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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22631974">Beats of Fever</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLisa/pseuds/LadyLisa'>LadyLisa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Injury, Dancing, Doctors &amp; Physicians, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Hospitals, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Spanish Civil War, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Temporary Love Triangle, Violence, Writers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 09:49:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>35,807</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22631974</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLisa/pseuds/LadyLisa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Antonio Fernández Carriedo is a doctor working in Madrid dealing with a crush on an Italian tourist when the tensions in Spain reach a head and Civil War breaks out.</p><p>Chinese translation by the wonderful starch: https://zheiliqianhuanxiangyaofanyi.lofter.com</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>South Italy/Spain (Hetalia), minor France/England, minor South Italy/Belgium</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>84</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>101</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The title is from “Madrid, Corazón de España” by Rafael Alberti </p><p>A little historical background: The Spanish Civil war lasted from 1936 - 1939, between the Spanish military and the Second Spanish Republic. The Republicans (or Reds) had the help of Russia in exchange for Spain’s gold, as well as some International volunteers set up by Communist International. The military, the Nationalists, had the help of Facist Germany and Italy. The war ended with the Nationalists victorious, and Fransisco Franco, the leader of the coup, ruled Spain until 1975.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Madrid, January 1937   </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The fires had finally gone out. </p><p>Antonio rolled his shoulders back and pushed his hands over his hair, leaning against the wall of the tram stop. He drew a shuddering breath as his eyes flicked to the surrounding buildings, down on their knees beneath the blackened sky. He tugged at the arm of his coat and shivered, forcing himself to turn away. This need to move, to wander the smoldering city, would never be satisfied standing here against the cold brick. </p><p>On the other side of the plaza were more shattered windows. Fine grains of glass sparkled on the pavement like the frost far away on the fronts, stained russet in places. Someone was lying on the faux frost, his fingertips red with blood leaking onto the street beneath him. There was a bloodstain on his back and shoulder, melding together and claiming the back of his rumpled uniform. It swathed his ribcage and seeped between his shoulder blades, as though he had been wrapped in a <em> muleta</em>. </p><p>Antonio crouched down beside him. He was wearing a <em> Corpo Truppe Volontarie </em>uniform, so he must be one of Mussolini’s “volunteers.” </p><p>With a rustle of shattered glass, Antonio shifted and picked up his wrist, feeling for a heartbeat. The pulse beneath his stiff fingers was steady and slow, as if he were asleep, but Antonio doubted that was the reason. He rested his arm back on the fine film of blood on the street, bracing himself to turn the soldier over. He wondered where he was from; a big city like Rome or Milan, maybe a farming town on an uncertain border? </p><p>Antonio gentle rolled him onto his back, keeping his injured shoulder off the ground. </p><p>Despite everything he had seen in the past year, and all his medical training to keep cool in a crisis, he couldn’t stop his intake of breath. </p><p>“Lovino?” Antonio whispered. Lovino’s had a forming bruise over his eye, likely from falling on the street. That achingly familiar curve of his lips was knotted with coagulating blood where his lip had split, perhaps from the glass. And his face was pale as the grave, low, raspy breaths seeping from his lungs. </p><p>“Lovino…” Antonio repeated. </p><p>“Am… am I dying?” Lovino’s voice was so faint. “I don’t want to die.” He squeezed his eyes shut tighter. It looked like it hurt. Tears made his eyelids shiver and they trembled on down his cheeks, rolling into his hair. </p><p>“You won’t,” Antonio insisted, even if he didn’t believe it himself. Lovino shuddered. “It’s me. It’s Antonio,” he added. Lovino pushed his eyes open, and even in the muddle exhaustion in his face, there was desperation. </p><p>“Antonio?” He coughed, disrupting the blood on his chin. “I… I have to tell…” He coughed again and gave a soft whine of pain. Antonio wanted to put a hand on his cheek, his arm, but he didn’t dare touch him. His eyes flicked to Lovino’s shoulder and he frowned; shoulder wounds could be complicated. </p><p>“Sh,” Antonio said, trying to sound soothing. “It can wait. I’ll get you to the hospital.” He gave a sharp exhale as he lifted Lovino from the street. Lovino pressed his cheek to Antonio’s chest, so heavy in his arms because he was too weak to hold any part of himself. Again Antonio wanted to touch him, to push those loose bits of his hair from his forehead, offer him some kind of reassurance. But he didn’t. </p><p>“It’s important,” Lovino rasped as Antonio began carrying him away from the plaza. </p><p>“It needs to wait,” Antonio insisted. He looked down at Lovino’s face. Having seen enough men on Death’s door, he knew Lovino was starting up the street.</p><p>“No, it can’t…” Lovino whispered. Antonio shook his head. He couldn’t help it, he needed to do something to comfort him, so he held him closer and looked up at the grey sky, remembering when it had been blue.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>_____________</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Madrid, July 1936  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Antonio leaned on the printing shop counter, watching the man at the register counting a handful of <em> pesetas</em>. He glanced up. </p><p>“Oh, Dr. Fernández Carriedo. You looking for Lovino?” he asked. Antonio nodded. “He’s working in the back, but he’s shifts over in a few minutes.” Antonio sighed.</p><p>“Well, if you see him, tell him he needs to meet me downtown. His girl’s waiting for him and I’m sure he doesn’t want me to get there first.” </p><p>“Antonio!” He spun around to see Lovino emerging from the back room, holding a crate of bound newspapers. “Did Emma get in?” he asked. Antonio nodded. Lovino rounded his shoulders and held a little tighter to the crate. “Right, wait for me. I need to give these to Carlitos.” Antonio nodded as Lovino snuck into yet another side door. </p><p>He had his sleeves rolled up today, showing his forearms, tanned from the Spanish summer and toned from carrying crates around in the printing shop. He had been incapable of hefting more than a few bundles back in December when Antonio had helped him get the job when Lovino was running low on funds. He explained his trip to Madrid had lasted several months longer than he planned, and while Antonio couldn’t no for sure, he suspected it had something to do with Emma, his girlfriend, who he had not seen since he had come to Spain six months ago. </p><p>Antonio had started dreading the day Lovino returned to Italy for weeks, but now it was worse. Now Emma was here, this piece of his life back home who was going to take him away from Antonio. The more infatuated with Lovino he became the more he began to ache for his hometown in the Basque Country with its pint-sized train station and abundance of nothingness. He had always wanted to leave it, but he seemed to want some excuse for the hopeless, empty want inside of him. </p><p>It wasn’t because of Lovino. No. It was because he missed his family, the smell of clean laundry and hot sand on humid days, or the woodworking shed where his father used to carve. </p><p>Lovino reappeared, breaking Antonio out of his cyclical thoughts. “Okay. Let’s go.” Antonio couldn’t help feeling Lovino looked like he was bracing himself as he and Antonio left the print shop, starting down the sidewalks for the little plaza by the train station. </p><p>“What did you mean, ‘I’m sure he doesn’t want me to get there first’?” Lovino asked suddenly. </p><p>“I was trying to rile you up a bit. I mean, I thought you would be a little more excited about seeing her. She came all the way to Spain, and it’s been how long, six months? You must miss her.” He shoved Lovino’s shoulder. “Did it work?” Lovino stumbled sideways towards the fabric store, glaring at Antonio when he regained his balance. </p><p>“No,” he snapped. He kicked at the cemement, waiting to cross the street. Antonio glanced at the windows of the fabric store at one of the <em> trajes de luces </em>on display. It gleamed like polished peridot, hand-sewn with delicate filigree. Lovino followed Antonio’s gaze. </p><p>“Back at it again with another shitty idea, hmm?” he asked. Antonio squinted. “Quitting your job to be a bullfighter? I wonder how you were smart enough to <em>be </em>a doctor in the first place.” He had to admit if only privately Antonio certainly did have the face for it, and the figure too.</p><p><br/>“I know, you’ve mentioned it,” Antonio said, trying not to sound a little irritated. “And no. I just like to look at them. Anyhow, you’re changing the subject. We’re talking about Emma and how you’re not being a particularly good boyfriend.” </p><p>“Maybe I haven’t. Not your business though, is it?” </p><p>“I would think so,” Antonio said. “I am your friend, after all.” </p><p>“What the hell gave you that idea?” Lovino asked.</p><p>“Incidentally, you,” Antonio replied. Maybe he should have felt offended, but there was something teasing and light about their rapport. Lovino even looked to be fighting down a little smile. “So you don’t want to see her.” Antonio clicked his tongue. “Not a good sign.” He raised his eyebrows. </p><p>“Just stop,” Lovino muttered, face reddening. Antonio raised them higher. Lovino shoved him, starling several pigeons. “<em>Stop it</em>, you ass.” </p><p>“Are you sure you’re really in love with this girl?” Lovino stiffened and Antonio, as he often did, quickly regretted asking. He had gotten riskier and riskier with his comments the more it seemed Lovino would be leaving Spain soon. But he couldn’t help it. He wanted a reaction out of Lovino, to get his attention. Negative, positive, that didn’t matter. He craved it like sweetness and summer heat, a methodical imitation of a need harsh as thirst. </p><p>Lovino didn’t answer, but his shoulders dropped. Antonio hated that subtle sign made him want to smile. Besides, even if he left Emma, it was doubtful Lovino would ever love him. The sooner Antonio could get over that fact, the happier he would be. Then he wouldn’t close his eyes and get sick to his stomach with that coveting for Lovino, wondering if those words or that accidental touch meant more than it did on the surface. </p><p>They never did, but Antonio couldn’t stop hoping. </p><p>It was late afternoon and even the busiest part of downtown was getting quiet, settling with a few rustles of closing shops. The train station was swarming, but Emma wasn’t at the station, she was sitting on a dry fountain a ways away. She crossed her ankles and looked up at the blue sky, halfway through a cigarette when Lovino approached her. </p><p>Antonio couldn’t help taking in her appearance. She was pretty, he couldn’t deny that, with her lovely blonde hair and the slight rose in her cheeks. When she saw Lovino, her face brightened some, but not as much as it might have. </p><p>“Emma,” Lovino said. She stubbed out her cigarette and leapt off the fountain to walk into his hesitant arms, kissing him on the cheek. Lovino winced the slightest bit, though that was likely only because she had just been smoking. He pulled her up to his chest, holding on to her elbows as he kissed the side of her neck and made her giggle. Antonio looked away, wishing some passerby would shut this horrible display of affection down. </p><p>“This is Antonio,” Lovino said. “He’s been helping me navigate Spain. I met him in Barcelona when I was down there, but he works here in Madrid.” </p><p>Emma took his hand. “Nice to meet you, Antonio.” Antonio smiled. Her accent sounded very Italian, which surprised him; Lovino said she was from Belgium. Then again, she had been living with him in Italy, though Antonio didn’t know for how long. Lovino hadn’t liked talking about her. </p><p>“You…” she turned to Lovino to ask for a translation, “you met in Barcelona?” Antonio nodded. </p><p>“I was on holiday. I work at the hospital.” Lovino translated for her.</p><p>“<em>Sì, capisco, </em> Lovino.” Her voice was somewhat bitter. Antonio couldn’t imagine this relationship was going to last a terribly long time judging on how this reunion was going. “<em>Andiamo all'albergo. Sono stanco e… Non importa. Andiamo</em>,” she said to Lovino, softening her voice. He put an arm around her shoulders and she reached up to thread her fingers through his. </p><p>“<em>V</em><em>a bene, ma—” </em></p><p>“Lovino, <em> ho detto sono stanco</em>,” Emma said, cutting him off. </p><p>“What’s going on?” Antonio asked. </p><p>“She said she’s tired and wants to go to the hotel,” Lovino said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned away, holding Emma’s hand. It was stiff. Antonio wouldn’t hold his hand like that, he would be so much gentler, almost cradle it. He sat down on the fountain as they left, trying to ignore the gnawing burn on envy in his stomach. </p><p>The turndown service had been in while Lovino was at work. Emma sat on the edge of the made bed, taking out her cigarettes. She usually tried not to smoke too often, since she didn’t want to smell like tobacco, but she couldn’t help it now. Lovino lit one for himself and sat on the chair in the corner. They watched each other’s smoke trails, neither speaking. </p><p>Lovino was thinking about what Antonio had said, about how maybe he didn’t really love Emma. It had been something creeping around in the back of his head for months, but he had let it creep and never forced it into the light. Antonio had done that instead. </p><p>Emma was thinking of the day Lovino had left for Spain, saying he “needed a few weeks alone.” A few weeks had stretched into six months. No calls, no letters, no anything. </p><p>“Do you want some water? It’s getting hot,” Lovino said. Emma nodded. She gripped the fabric of her dress over her thighs and thanked him with a smile. She stared at the bedspread, listening to the tap turn on. </p><p>Lovino glared at himself in the mirror. Maybe Antonio was right. Maybe he didn’t love Emma. The thought made him feel helpless, because he had been so sure that what he felt for her was love in its purest sense. But maybe he had no idea what it was after all. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations:</p><p>Sì, capisco - Yes, I understand</p><p>Andiamo all'albergo. Sono stanco e… Non importa. Andiamo - Let's go to the hotel. I'm tired and... never mind. Let's go. </p><p>Va bene, ma - alright, but </p><p>ho detto sono stanco - I said I'm tired</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Antonio sat by his open window, looking over his shoulder at the street below him. There were a few stragglers wandering along the dark streets, clutching at one another and laughing. Antonio watched them stumble along, a bit concerned. At the corner the laughing stopped because one of the figures grabbed the other and kissed them. Without light, they looked like some imprinted memory on the dark world, those laughing spirits so in love. </p><p>He turned away, focusing back on the guitar across his lap. He sighed under his breath, plucking the strings idly while the wind whispered across his cheeks. </p><p>As he played, he imagined leaving Madrid tomorrow, taking a train to Barcelona or Valencia. There he could playing his guitar on the salt-tanged, oceanside streets, and maybe one day there would be a soft smile, a shy look, and he would fall in love there and never think of Lovino again. </p><p>Of course he knew that was all fantasy. He had a stable job at the hospital, and above all, he shouldn’t let some hopeless crush uproot his life. That was all it was, after all, a crush. A projection of what of his desire for romance on some handsome, cold man visiting from a foreign country that had left an adorable accent on his Spanish. </p><p>Antonio pressed a finger tighter to the fretts, enough it hurt even after years of playing. Then there was a knock on the door, which gave him pause. A glance at the clock told him it was far too late in the evening for a casual call; perhaps it was his neighbor downstairs, worrying over her baby. </p><p>“Who is it?” he asked. </p><p>“Lovino.” Antonio’s hand shook when he grabbed the handle. The idea of Lovino showing up on his doorstep late in the evening was one he often entertained, typically in sunny sheets on Saturday mornings, too tired to wake but not enough to fall back asleep. Having it play out in reality made it seem there was something had come undone about the world. </p><p>But Antonio opened the door. Lovino was waiting there, hands sunk deep into his pockets. Even in the tarnished light of the hall, Antonio could see the stains of color in his cheeks and across his nose, how his lashes clung to one another. He knew better than the point it out and moved aside to let Lovino in. He collapsed on the couch, fixing his gaze on the city.</p><p>“As thick as you are, you might have been right.” Lovino spoke into the side of his hand. Antonio sank onto the opposite side of the couch, trying to meet his eyes, but Lovino reserved them for the hollow sparkle of Madrid. </p><p>“You never think I’m right about anything,” Antonio said. </p><p>“With good reason. You usually aren’t,” Lovino said. “But you were about this. I don’t love Emma anymore. Maybe I never did.” Antonio shifted his weight. His heart was beating hard, half in being so close to Lovino and half from a lightening of hope. “I broke up with her.” </p><p>“I am so sorry, Lovino,” Antonio said, putting a hand on his shoulder. Lovino shrugged, hard enough Antonio guessed he wanted him to take his hand back. </p><p>“Whatever. I wanted to ask you for a favor.” Antonio nodded. “Two, actually. First, got any cigarettes?” Antonio nodded, reaching for the box beneath the lamp and passing them to Lovino. He watched him light it before taking one for himself. “Second,” he said with a short exhale, “I need a place to stay for the night, since I told Emma she could stay in my room until her train back home.” </p><p>“S-stay here?” Antonio asked, squeezing his cigarette hard. Lovino nodded. “Oh, sure, I suppose.” He hoped the grayish darkness was enough to stop Lovino see the blush forming in his cheeks and dusted across the slope of his nose. Lovino sighed smoke out his nostrils, glancing at the guitar by the wall while he took another drag. </p><p>“Is that the famous guitar?” he asked, something endearing in the sarcasm. Antonio nodded and sat back in his chair by the window, pulling it up into his lap. “Play something depressing,” Lovino said. Antonio nodded. Lovino rested his head on the back of the couch and blew a stream of smoke up towards the extinguished lights. The silvery night outlined his fine-boned face in silver, lined his lashes with white so they looked cracked with the hoarfrost.</p><p>Antonio propped his guitar on his knee and played the slowest song he knew, some ballad he had picked up a long time ago. Lovino flicked his ankle in time to the sombre beat but otherwise stayed still, smoking his cigarette and staring at the ceiling.</p><p>“You’re truly wasted as a doctor, Antonio,” Lovino murmured. His cheek rested lazily on his shoulders as he turned to look at Antonio, his hair crumpled from the couch and his own restless hands. Antonio ached to run a hand over it, brush those loose strands away and kiss his forehead. Maybe he could let his lips linger there for a few seconds, then tilt his chin up and kiss him. </p><p>“I bet you could sell out concert halls,” Lovino went on. Antonio laughed. </p><p>“That’s nice of you, but I doubt it,” he said. </p><p>“Nice of me?” Lovino echoed. “Interesting.” He tapped some ashes into the tray on the coffee table.</p><p>“You’re quite kind when you want to be,” Antonio muttered. </p><p>“Which is <em> incredibly </em>infrequently,” Lovino said. Antonio gave a defeated smile. He turned away and rubbed at his eye.</p><p>“Are you feeling alright?” Antonio asked. Lovino sucked his tongue against his teeth, then said, </p><p>“Of course I am.” He shoved his cigarette into the ashtray. “I’m going to bed.” Antonio set his guitar back down. </p><p>“Let me get you some blankets,” he said. Lovino thanked him, settled himself and his aura of gloom on the couch while Antonio rooted through the musty closet blankets. Then he grabbed the softer, freshly-laundered blankets off his own bed and brought them to Lovino. He could stand the musty blankets for a night. </p><p>“Goodnight. I’ll try not to wake you up when I leave for work.” Lovino nodded. Antonio nodded back and ducked into his bedroom, yanking the door shut. His heart was beating so hard it could have made his sternum vibrate. Taking a deep breath, Antonio pressed his hands to his face and grinned against his palms. </p><p>Lovino had stayed overnight at his apartment before, after some careless nights of drinking. But that was different. He wasn’t drunk now, or with Emma. Everything had to be different now, surely. </p><p>Attempting to calm himself down as he got ready for bed did little, so by the time he laid down he was possibly more wound up over the fact Lovino was sleeping just beyond the closed door. It didn’t help he had only the dusty, thin blankets to sleep with either. Antonio liked his luxurious duvet, but that was currently wrapped around Lovino on the living room couch. </p><p>He rolled over and slammed his back against the mattress, glaring at the darkness above him. It was too hot. He rolled onto his other side, holding the blanket against his chest and sighing heavily. He heard Lovino cough in the other room and buried his face in the old blanket. For a moment he allowed himself to imagine, if only for a moment, it was Lovino he was holding on to so hard. </p><p>
  <b>_____________</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Despite worrying about waking him up, Lovino was gone when Antonio wandered through the living room the following morning. He hadn’t heard him leave. Doing his best to shrug it off Antonio went on through his normal morning routine, turning on the radio for some scratchy music that faded in and out. He turned it up when he went into the kitchen for a mediocre breakfast, eyes drifting to the couch where Lovino had left the duvet a mess. </p><p>Antonio finished his toast and got his key from beside the door, pushing it in his back pocket and glancing back at the couch. It was an unnerving thing to do, but he couldn’t help himself, and he crouched beside the couch, pressing his face to the duvet. He drew a low inhale. The fabric smelled like Lovino’s aftershave. Antonio pressed the plush fabric harder to his cheeks to the point he could hardly breathe, but he didn’t care, all he cared about was filling his lungs with that trace of Lovino. </p><p>With an exhale he relaxed against the soft darkness of the blankets for a few more seconds, then set them down and scurried for the door. He felt embarrassed about it the whole tram ride to the hospital, but part of him felt it had been well worth it. </p><p>Keeping in time with the oddness of last night, there was something off about the hospital. Illiterate in atmosphere, Antonio wasn’t sure what it was until at least noon. It was much quieter, the hallways dotted with huddles of nurses and doctors who spoke in whispers. The scene was uneasy. </p><p>Eventually Antonio went to go find Gilbert, the Prussian doctor who informed him of the goings-on in the world when Antonio was oblivious (which was more often than he liked). He found Gilbert in one of the wards upstairs relaying something to one of the nurses and lurked in the door until he was done. He grinned when he saw Antonio, but his grin was grim. </p><p>“Afternoon,” he said. His voice was sore, but Gilbert was one of the top surgeons in the hospital, so that croak in his voice was by no means foreign. </p><p>“And to you,” Antonio said. “Do you know what’s going on?” Gilbert raised his eyebrows, then shook his head.</p><p>“My God, Antonio. <em> How </em> have you not heard?” he asked. “It’s been on te radio <em> all morning</em>.” Antonio cleared his throat in embarrassment. “They’ve practically been yelling it up and down the street. There’s been a military coup down in Morocco. Francisco Franco headed it, and uprising against the Republic.” </p><p>Antonio felt reality slip under his feet and had to lean against the wall. His palms started to sweat, his throat whitering. He tried to swallow and found himself unable. The whispered made sense now, the tight groups; how to know who stood with the government, who with the military? Your own friends, the people you trusted, with whose side were they allied? </p><p>“Do you think there’ll be a war?” Gilbert’s tone was choked but intrigued. Antonio tried to swallow again. </p><p>When the Great War had broken out, he had been hardly a toddler, and none of his relatives but a bitter old uncle had fought in it. But he heard stories, the sort that made the whole thing seem distant and fantastical. Never had he thought that he would ever brush the surface of those alternate realities, that there might be warfare in his own country. In his home. </p><p>“Maybe,” Antonio said. He felt his heart clench, not out of giddy nervousness he felt around Lovino. In real, cold-blood fear. The government could not fight back there own military, not without help. What army could the Republic possibly have? Would any country be willing to start some theatre in Spain, or be resolute that it was their problem and theirs alone?</p><p>Antonio shook the thoughts off his conscious. Nothing had been decided yet. Nothing had really been done yet, he should not let himself panic. Besides, some of the army must have stayed loyal to the government and could put the coup down. And despite trying to placate himself, Antonio still asked Gilbert,</p><p>“Will you go back to Prussia if we have a civil war?” Gilbert shook his head.</p><p>“Not much better over there, is it? And my family’s in Switzerland now. They left right after Hitler took power, they’ve even been trying to get citizenship, but I don’t know how well that’s going for them. Besides, if there is a war, they’ll need as many doctors as they can get.” Antonio nodded, rigid. Gilbert slapped him on the shoulder, making him flinch in surprise. “Keep your head up. We’ll be fine,” he said. Antonio nodded.</p><p>“We’ll be fine,” he echoed. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Antonio wanted a distraction. The second his shift ended at the hospital he got onto the tram, watching Madrid pass in the dusky evening that smelled like sangria and faded sun. Lovino was closing up shop when he arrived, a heaviness to his shoulders. He must have been thinking about Emma. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Lovino,” Antonio announced. Lovino looked up and he smiled just a little and his smile made Antonio’s chest fill with the summer dusk outside, the sunset on Lovino’s breath. “I have a idea.” He announced, leaning on the counter like he’d done the day before. Lovino looked over at him with quirked eyebrows. “There’s somewhere I’ve been meaning to take you forever. I promise, it’ll take your mind off Emma, there will be so much alcohol.” He grinned, knowing that would get Lovino’s attention. Lovino hesitated for a few moments, but then he nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio waited for him to finish cleaning up and locking the doors, then they walked down the streets past the fabric shop and the cafés, through one of the plazas to a set of quieter streets. The breeze tugged at Lovino’s hair as he stopped, hearing a faint pull of music. Antonio spun around and grinned at Lovino.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re almost there.” He promised, quickening his pace. “It’s an old bullring. There aren’t fights there anymore, not even </span>
  <em>
    <span>capeas</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it’s ours.” He walked backwards over the cobble stones and when he pivoted Lovino saw the bullring ahead of him, expecting a place haunted with ever-bored spectators and wounded picadors, but it was nothing like that at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The place may be unused but it wasn’t in disrepair. The night air was warm with the strum of guitars and creak of brass, the pulse of people dancing over the packed-down sand. There was a group of girls sitting on the empty seats smoking cigarettes, giving shrieks of laughter and yelling in some Castilian dialect. Lovino was taken aback. Girls didn’t smoke in Spain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s our corner of sin.” Antonio yelled over the music. “It’s my favorite place in the whole city.” He added, inhaling the smoke and the sangria and the melody.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Lovino yelled back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like-minded people.” Antonio grinned. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Reds</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he added. Lovino followed him inside the ring and bobbed at his shoulder. There were so many people jostling around him he kept getting swept away from Antonio, so he clutched at Antonio’s sleeve to make sure he wouldn’t lose him. Lovino dug his fingers harder into Antonio’s sleeve as one of the girls who had been smoking came swirling past him, clapping and stamping her feet, and smiling at Antonio. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What am I supposed to do here?” Lovino yelled. Antonio laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dance!” Antonio said. Lovino’s eyes swept the place again. The girls with the cigarettes. How close everyone was to one another. The alcohol. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t this all a little debaucherous?” Lovino asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>wonderful</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Antonio said. Lovino shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like this song.” Lovino said. “I’ll sit this one out, wait for something with a little more…” He shrugged and trailed off, slinking towards the wooden seats. He climbed the ring wall and sat down in the front row with the bored ghosts watching nothing. Lovino watched Antonio. He was near the center, his face red from spent energy. He was laughing, and his hair was getting messier and messier. He had stuffed his tie in his pocket and undone the first three buttons of his shirt, which hung open on his flushed, slightly-sweaty chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite all the people who weaved in front and around him, all Lovino could look at was Antonio. He was trapped by a feeling nearly frightening in its intensity; he felt tender and heavy with yearning. It only got worse as he sit there, staring at Antonio, at everything that made him beautiful, everything that made that feeling even worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio slung himself through the crowd as the song died down and scampered up onto the low wooden stage the musicians had set up. Lovino saw him conversing with the guitarist, who handed it over to Antonio. Antonio plopped down in his place, clinking a glass of sangria with him and downing it before curling close over the body of the guitar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He threw his head back and strummed a hot chord dramatically, then bent down towards the guitar like he was listening for the last fading bit of the note, and then he was playing some complex, rapid beat that made everyone kick up their feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio paused to tap out a rhythm on the wooden body while Lovino kept watching, feeling himself start to smile. He couldn’t tell for sure from his spot, but he thought Antonio had closed his eyes as he bounced his head in time with his music. Lovino leaned on his knees. Had he done this just to get Lovino to dance?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His suspicion was confirmed when Antonio looked up from playing to grin at Lovino across the ring. It should have annoyed him, how hard Antonio was trying to get him to dance, but his playfulness was too endearing. Antonio grinned at Lovino again, who was leaning back against the empty row of seats behind him, pretending to be nonchalant even though his cheeks were warm and his heart was too. Antonio pointed with his foot and Lovino realized he was pointing at Lovino’s; he’d been tapping it in time to the beat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio was trying so, so hard. Maybe he owed him just one dance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino hopped down over the wall into the ring and joined the crowd, swept into the clapping and the dancing around him. The song ended and he was out of breath but then Antonio had joined him, and they danced over the packed sand. Lovino couldn’t stop smiling; the atmosphere was intoxicating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When neither of them could move anymore, he and Antonio collapsed on the seats with a glass of sangria each, watching the dancers and musicians. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for taking me out here.” Lovino held out his glass. Antonio clinked his to Lovino’s and they both drank. There was a bit of orange rind in Lovino’s and he took it out and started nibbling on it while Antonio looked up at the streetlamps, his breath still heavy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are there always this money people here?” Lovino asked behind the orange peel. Antonio shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s probably because of the coup.” Antonio said. “The threat of having a war… It makes you want to act up, doesn’t it?” Antonio asked. His eyes had dropped from Lovino’s to his fingers pinching the orange peel between his teeth. Lovino withdrew it and Antonio traced the movement with his eyes, lips parted. “Makes you want to live in the moment a little more, do the things you want before you lose your chance.” Antonio met his eyes now, nervous, almost shy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Lovino said. The night air, the smoke, the alcohol was making him feel tired. He leaned a little closer to Antonio, not thinking of anything but that want to be close to him</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Antonio kissed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino’s heart beat in his throat and his ears and Antonio’s mouth was so warm and it tasted like oranges… And then he realized what he was doing and he pulled back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell are you doing?!” He yelled, shoving Antonio back into the seats. “You better stay the fuck away from me, you got that?” Lovino’s heart was beating so hard he felt it in his face now too, not pleasant, nearly painful. He felt sick to his stomach as he leapt over the low wall and bolted from the bullring to run back through the crowd and onto the waiting streets. </span>
</p><p><span>Lovino didn’t stop running until he was out of sight and sound of the bullring, stranded in Madrid’s heart. He crumpled on the dirty sidewalk, hiding his face in his hands. Why</span> <span>had he said that? Why had he </span><em><span>done </span></em><span>that? He stared into the blackness of his palms, feeling so physically ill he got onto all fours, bracing himself to be sick. </span></p><p>
  <span>Horror and nausea clung to the walls of his hammering heart as he thought of how badly he’d wanted Antonio in that second. More than anything ever before. Closer than close, under his skin and in his lungs and in the pulse of blood through his veins. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The threat of having a war… It makes you want to act up, doesn’t it? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lovino put his head in his hands, elbows on the ground still hot from the set sun. Yes, that was all, just the panic about going to war. That was what had pushed Antonio, and pushed him too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino pulled himself upright and leaned on the wall of a shop, gathering his breath and his heartbeat. He was half-drunk anyway. He wasn’t thinking right. He stumbled in the direction of his hotel, he convinced himself to get on the train with Emma back to Italy, and he wouldn’t let himself think about what he really, really wanted to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to imagine a scene where he hadn’t pushed Antonio away, where instead he had kissed him until he couldn’t breathe. Perhaps it was because he had spent months pushing down thoughts about Antonio but now he was all Lovino could think about. He was lost in those thoughts of Antonio’s lips, his gentle hands, his kind smile. Antonio had risked everything and kissed him, because perhaps he couldn’t find words for whatever that kiss had meant, ad Lovino had bruised his heart under his heel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino stared down at a puddle in the gutter, watching his reflection swim in the greasy water, noting how tired his eyes looked and the downtown at the corners of his mouth. Antonio could make him laugh. Lovino closed his eyes, wondering when this creeping ache for Antonio had started. He didn’t know. But that didn’t matter; whatever it was, it was wrong, and unnatural, and as soon as he got home to Italy he would fix himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would go to confession, ask forgiveness from the priest. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d gone to the Father for something like this. Once the weight was off his shoulders, he would start seeing Emma again, explain he hadn’t been feeling like himself lately and that he wanted to be with her again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it would all be a lie.</span><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Antonio woke with his face buried in his pillows. They smelled like sun because he had left the curtains of his balcony drawn and the sun was falling in thick bars across his face and his thin blanket. He could hear Madrid beating outside his apartment, voices and cars and someone’s radio from downstairs on the balcony. A woman’s low, rasping voice, singing about everlasting love. Antonio shut his eyes. It was too early for that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to stay in bed, a mess of tears and hurt in tangled sheets, but he forced himself to get up. He opened the doors to let summer in, even that stupid love song on the radio below him. He got dressed and forced down a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bollo </span>
  </em>
  <span>and a cup of coffee which he drank on the balcony, keeping a trained eye on his watch so he wouldn’t be late for work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio arrived early and went up to the laundry room in hopes of finding Marienne, the nurse from France. She hadn’t been at the hospital long but she was good friends with Gilbert and Antonio. Not many others had taken much of a liking to her, fearing they would seem indecent hanging around someone so obviously unchaste. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Gilbert provided him the news and a few low jokes to laugh at when the hours were too long, Marienne was more reassuring when he needed reassurance, at least when she wasn’t heartlessly sharing her endless gossip from the maternity ward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marienne was folding sheets when he found her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dr. Fernández</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said with a smile, setting the sheets on top of the dryer. “Busy night?” She asked, seeing the sickly look in his face. “I can tell you’re hungover,” she added in a hissing whisper so none of the other nurses bustling past with dirtied sheets would hear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I went out last night with, with Lovino, and I got carried away.” Antonio said. He tried to staunch any memory of last night before it came to him. He had thought enough alcohol would have given him some convenient amnesia, but his brain was determined to hang onto what happened in that bullring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He imagined he felt a lot like his cousin after he had been rammed in the stomach by a bull’s horn at one of his matches. That was the worst type of wound because there was nothing the doctors could do but let him bleed from the inside out, and though Antonio had never experienced internal bleeding if he had to describe it it would be the rejection still making every one of his organs feel nauseous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, poor Antonito. What happened?” Marienne asked. Antonio shook his head and regretted it because the dull pounding in his head got worse. Marienne shrugged and piled the sheets back into one of the laundry baskets, which she balanced on her hip. “Well, if you want to talk, you know where to find me,” she said with a wink and left him there in the laundry room. Antonio sighed. He needed to find Gilbert and ask him to take over the first of his surgeries of the day so he wouldn’t commit manslaughter via malpractice before noon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun rose higher and the day got hotter. People sat outside at the cafés, sipping water and waiting out the sun, stood on the sidewalks with cigarettes or walked around the Puertas because it was too hot to just sit inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio was inside all day, tending to the people who had gotten into fights on those same sunny streets. Several had gunshot wounds. The level of unrest in the city so early made Antonio’s blood turn to the sluggish, half-frozen slush left over from a groggy grey winter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The heat was making everyone snappy and tired, which made everything even slower and more difficult. Antonio had to focus hard to keep his hands steady and to filter out his thoughts. He wondered if the day would end at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it did, he was standing at the tram stop with Marienne and Gilbert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I can’t wait to get home and drink.” Marienne said with a wistful smile. Her hair was copper in the evening but stale with humidity and sweat, color high in her cheeks. She giggled and grinned at Antonio and Gilbert. “Remember Arthur?” Antonio did remember him. One of Marienne’s favorite topics was her various lovers, and since her current one was Arthur, they heard about him more than the scandalous housewives of Madrid and their unfaithful husbands. “He sent me a few rare bottles from Italy.” She said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio gave her a forced smile. He was jealous Marienne could afford to go home and get drunk. He was jealous that she could have a string of partners for the sole point, it seemed, for every indulgence she wanted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tram arrived and Antonio was about to follow them when he heard someone call his name. He turned to look over his shoulder. It was just who he dreaded it would be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Antonio!” Lovino hurried over to him, stopping by the curb. Antonio backed away from the tram even though he knew he should have gotten on, he should leave, leave </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This could get dangerous. They walked to the small niche beside the hospital. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino’s breath was short and his face was red. “I’m so sorry. I was such an asshole. I shouldn’t have said what I said.” Lovino said. He sounded like he meant it. Antonio felt his brain tug at itself, pulling between logic and lovesickness. He wanted to tell Lovino he forgave him, to kiss him as the hot sun set and the cool night came, spin him under the stars in that empty bullring to the music he loved so much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he shouldn’t. Lovino didn’t love him. He wouldn’t be the one to dance with Antonio when the beat was faster than a pulse, or walk through Puerta del Sol when sunlight was dripping down through the cracks in the cobbles and reach to take Antonio’s hand. He wouldn’t be the one who would lay in rumpled sheets all warm with early morning, hungry from coffee kisses and touches from hands too-hot from being trapped under blankets. And above all, Lovino wasn’t whoever Antonio had pictured him in his head. He was a person, a person with flaws and ambitions and hopes and plans for a future that didn’t involve Antonio.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And even though he knew that, Lovino didn’t know what to do. He tilted his chin up like his brother had once told him to do to trick himself in confidence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for apologizing.” Antonio drew a deep breath. “I’ve got to go home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait.” Lovino said. “E-Emma’s train doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning. Could I stay with you one more night? Just until she leaves?” Lovino asked. Antonio felt like he might tear up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” His voice was rigid. Lovino winced. He stepped closer to Antonio and then he had taken his hands, his intensity almost nerve-wracking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we please talk?” Lovino asked. Antonio looked up at him with defeated eyes as he realized, he still wanted Lovino. After everything, that dream of crushed velvet, honey-sweetened rose water romance still wanted Lovino. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” Lovino’s face was hopeless. It was imploring as much as Antonio’s own. He searched Antonio’s eyes for a second longer, spun bronze and copper from the evening sun, and then he leaned forward and kissed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio didn’t think. He reacted. He grabbed Lovino’s lower back and pulled him up close with his fingers in his shirt, keeping his lips so close to Lovino’s as though he wanted less to kiss him and instead to fill his whole being with Lovino. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was the sort of kiss he didn’t think existed, that made it feel like the world was holding its breath. He wanted to stay as long as he could in this world that wasn’t turning where all his senses were overwhelmed with Lovino; the scent of his aftershave, the feeling of his hands, the taste of his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soft bittersweetness curled in Antonio’s stomach, the feeling of falling in love with a moment and knowing how painful it would be when it was over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though perhaps it wasn’t the moment he was falling in love with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino broke away. “I’m confused.” He said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too.” Antonio said. “You went from spitting in my face to kissing me in under twenty-four hours.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino was still staring at him. “I think I’m in love with you.” It was so matter-of-fact, yet it still made Antonio wanted to grab Lovino and kiss him again, but he held himself back. “I mean, I want to be with you all the time and I can’t stop thinking about you and I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>kissed </span>
  </em>
  <span>you, but…” Lovino shook his head. “There must be something wrong with me, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but I can’t clear my head with you here, I can’t think.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio stared at the cement beneath his feet. He wondered if his lips would still taste like Lovino when he got on the tram, if he could live with the taste in his mouth knowing he would never know it again once it had gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to figure it all out.” Lovino said. “And then… then I’ll come back to Spain.” Antonio wondered if he might be a little drunk. He was swaying on the spot a little, tripping on his words. “Goodbye, Antonio. Thank you for being my guide here, and my friend. I’m sorry to leave like this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio met Lovino’s eyes and nodded, but he already knew Lovino wasn’t ever coming back. If he did it wouldn’t be to proclaim his love for Antonio, it would be to tell Antonio he wanted nothing to do with him, that he was married to Emma and they had fifty kids. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, Lovino.” Antonio whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino nodded stiffly. “Until we meet again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <b>_____________</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Emma!” Emma turned around, looking at Lovino in shock, hurrying up the platform towards her. It should have been romantic, running to her in the crowded station, but it didn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovi?” Emma muttered. He gathered her up in his arms and hugged her, wishing she would hug him back. “Lovino, what are you doing?” She asked. Her hands went to his back, holding tight to his shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going back to Italy with you.” He said. Emma stared at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” She asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m so sorry, Emma,” Lovino took her hand and kissed it, trying to force some kind of romantic gesture out of himself. She didn’t look fully convinced or forgiving, but her hands on his shoulders, that was enough for now. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The gentle movement of the train and the mutter of voices in the warm car was making Lovino sleepy. He was half-dreaming but still catching words in the hovering conversations around him, and he could feel the rumbling of wheels when they hitched on the tracks. His cheek lolled towards his shoulder as the train chugged on through the countryside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his mind’s eye he stood in the bullring, and Antonio sat on the little raised platform playing his guitar. The dancers stepping in time to his beat over the trampled sand were like fresh, rich brushstrokes of oil paint. The corners of Lovino’s mouth twitched. Lovino liked imagining it all as a painting. He liked the way Antonio lost himself playing the guitar and it would be impossible for anyone who didn’t know him to imagine this man was a doctor. Lovino remembered Antonio’s face, his eyes pinched shut, nose wrinkled, biting the tip of his tongue between his teeth so it stuck out a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The train hit a harsh bump and Lovino jolted out of the softness of his subconscious. Emma was laying against him, the book she’d finished balanced on her thighs. Emma. that’s who he was here for. He leaned closer to her, listening to her soft breathing and kissing her on the top of her head. The sweet-savory scent of rosewater lingered on her neck and in her hair as he put his arms around her, staring back out the windows, counting the russet rooftops outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was why he was leaving Spain, not Antonio. He watched his reflection in the windows, flashing in front of the rolling fields dotted with cows and little red-roofed villages. Had he always looked so sad? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino snuggled against the seat and closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep. He wished he could stay in the peaceful dark forever, or at least as long as it took for his heart to stop hurting and stomach to stop twisting. But then the sun slipped through the crack in the curtains onto his face, and then he was scrunching it against the heat and opening his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, Lovi.” Emma kissed him on the cheek. “Do you want to get coffee with me or something to eat? I’m heading to the dining car.” She said, stretching out her arms in a contained, demure way that Lovino doubted helped at all. He saw the silver watch on her wrist glint, the one with the eye-shaped face that nestled beside the ridge of her wrist, tiny diamonds winking at the edges. He had given it to her for her twenty-sixth birthday several months ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe soon.” Lovino promised, putting a hand on her shoulder blade as she stood up. “I’m still tired. You go ahead.” Emma looked down at him with a sort of baleful look, and then she’d turned and was walking away down the train. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat looking out the windows until she returned. She smelled like coffee and something sweet but he didn’t know what. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I can’t wait to get off this train,” she groaned. Lovino nodded. He continued to stare out the windows, wondering where the train was now. France? Switzerland? When would they get to Italy? He needed to speak with the Father. The sooner he confessed, the sooner he would stop feeling sick and he could go back to the familiar, the ordinary, forget about Madrid and whatever might have happened there. He just wanted to be told it was nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was nothing.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they reached Florence that evening, Lovino took a cab to his apartment and stuffed his suitcase in his room, not bothering to unpack. He opened the curtains to let the last of the sun into his bedroom, looking at his neighbors’ closed shutters, dark green against the yellow walls. It was an unpleasant complement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino walked past the Duomo with its lingering tourists, crossing the familiar piazza to a little stone church on its edge. He pushed open the door and was met with cool darkness, soft on his eyes after the rich sunset and refreshing after two days on the stuffy train. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino stepped into the confession box, listening to his own breathing for a moment while his pulse beat hard in his throat. He swallowed and drew a deep breath, closing his eyes. If Lovino had ever been asked to imagine what it would be like to be sealed in a tomb, he would’ve thought of the confessional stall. Yet the place still eased the pressure of his lungs, knowing the priest sat beside him on the other side of the screen to take the weight off his tired shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” Lovino swallowed again and took another deep breath, staring up towards the ceiling even though he couldn’t see it. “My last confession was seven months ago. Please, absolve me of my sins, for I have been unfaithful to my girlfriend, with…” Lovino had to take a long pause. “With another man.” Lovino said. His eyes stung. “For these sins I humbly ask absolution and penance.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino heard the priest’s clothes rustling slightly as if he had shifted his weight. Lovino bit down hard on his lip. “Wait, Father,” Lovino said. “I… I’m afraid.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you afraid of?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid these… these feelings towards this other man are not gone.” Lovino said. Silence for a moment. “Is He testing me?” Lovino murmured. “Yes, He’s testing me, that’s all.” Lovino said, staring into the still darkness. He felt suffocated suddenly, abruptly, and he wasn’t listening to whatever prayers the priest was telling him to say. He was thinking of Antonio, and he wanted nothing more than to stop thinking of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This wasn’t helping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed to get out of this box, out of this tomb. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>_____________</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some weeks after Lovino arrived in Florence, Antonio climbed onto a truck with a huddle of roughed-up Reds and drove to the monument of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. The day was dusty and the late August heat was making them sweat, crammed together and rattling with every crag of the road. Most of the men were younger than him, paler, hands streaked up with dirt. They were restless, bouncing their legs or smoking or cleaning their rifles that didn’t need cleaning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio watched the statue come into focus as they got closer and closer, its long shadow cutting a deep groove into the sundried dry earth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The truck halted and they all leaned forward a bit and then peeled off, landing in that dust earth and staring up at Christ atop of His pedestal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The militiamen circled around the statue, cocking their guns. There was no order to fire, but someone must have because a shot rang out and everyone else followed suit. Antonio’s arm jerked back from the force of the shot and hit him hard in the shoulder, leaving his collarbone aching as he lowered his gun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped back with the others and they stood still in the summer fever, not saying anything. Eventually they regrouped around the truck, smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and kicking at the dust. Antonio liked the smell of tobacco and dust; it gave him a faint tug of childhood nostalgia. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was on his uncle’s farm with the horses and endless sky that was washed-out purple at dusk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a doctor, aren’t you?” Antonio opened his eyes, looking sideways at the man who’d spoken. “Why are you here?” He asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio shrugged, taking a low drag on his cigarette. He glared up at the statue of Christ. <em>You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination</em>. The word rang in Antonio’s ears even though it hadn’t been spoken. <em>Abomination</em>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><em>It’s not fair. It’s not fair!</em> He tossed his cigarette into the dirt and ground it under his heel until he’d created a divot in the earth. Then he swung himself up onto the back of the truck to wait for the militiamen, watching the clouds trekking across the sky. He had thought joining this little demonstration would have made him feel more in control somehow. Stronger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But all it had made him was hot, tired, and given him a bruised collarbone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he got home, he threw himself into the chair by the window and looked out at the city, sipping on cold water to break the heat. With everything happening, it seemed impossible he would find time to think about Lovino. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The edge of the train station was visible far down the street. Whenever he saw it he imagined Lovino stepped off that train, showing up on Antonio’s doorstep and telling Antonio he loved him. Antonio shut his eyes tightly, wrinkled his nose, trying to suffocate the thoughts in his head. He didn’t want to let hope in, but he couldn’t keep it out, either. It was persistent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sleep, wine, music, laughter, Lovino. All the things he wanted so badly but he couldn’t have, not now. And for Lovino, probably never.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The taste of Lovino’s mouth that first night in the bullring; alcohol and cigarettes with the faintest tang of that orange peel. It was bitter but somehow sweet because it was Lovino’s mouth, and any other day maybe they would be like sea salt, or all floral like the orange. Like how they had been by the tram stop on the sidewalk beside the hospital. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He replayed that kiss on the street over and over again until he tired of it, which took far too long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio marched himself into the bathroom and splashed water on his face, rubbing the dust and the sweat off his skin. He clutched the side of the sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror, heat-flushed and dripping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not coming back,” Antonio’s voice broke. “He’s not coming back.” He repeated. “He doesn’t love you.” Antonio’s knuckles went white on the sink and he let go. “He’s not coming back…” Antonio put his wet hands back to his face. His wet lashes clung to one another. “Give it up, just give it up…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio shook his head, taking a few moments to compose himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re okay. You’re okay. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Antonio drew himself upright and looked out his pint-sized bathroom window where he could see a sheet hanging from the opposite balcony. On it was painted </span>
  <em>
    <span>¡</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>no pasaran! </span>
  </em>
  <span>in black paint. Antonio exhaled and felt the tension ease out of his shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The people of Madrid wouldn’t give up. The Republic wouldn’t give up. If Antonio couldn’t keep his head up for himself, he’d keep it up for them. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The shooting at the Sacred Heart of Jesus happened on July 28, 1936. It was described in English newspapers as "The Assassination of Christ," and was a symbolic act of defiance against the Church and the conservative oppression in Spain.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I just want to say I hope you’re all doing well and taking care of yourselves even though everything’s a mess</p><p>Also, I realized I’ve been misspelling “fascist” this entire story I am so sorry</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lovino squinted up at the empty sky, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. His hair stuck to his nape with sweat. Cicadas screeched at the white sun behind him in the bushes, protesting the string of hot September days that had bled into October. </p><p>The heat was making Emma’s brothers even more argumental than usual, and they had been debating all afternoon about the rising tensions in Europe. Lovino was tired of the heat and he was tired of the arguing; he missed the quiet cafés that lined the Spanish streets where he could savor sparkling water or enjoy a macchiato in silence.  </p><p>The only good thing about this too-torrid day was Emma’s rose lemonade. She used the juice from Lovino’s little lemon tree, growing in the sunniest corner of his apartment, and steeped the dried rose petals Lovino bought her at the market. She loved roses. Lovino looked over at her, leaning on her hands with the silver watch glinting at her wrist, tanned from summer and wearing a new pink dress. Lovino wondered when she’d gotten it. </p><p>“How was Spain, Lovino?” Luca asked suddenly. </p><p>“It was wonderful, especially the music.” Lovino said, trying not to remember Antonio playing by the open window the night Lovino had broken up with Emma.  </p><p>“Emma says you love music. You play the piano, violin, sing…” Lovino nodded in the manner of someone suffering a stiff neck. “You were in Spain when the coup happened, correct?” Lovino nodded again. “Have you been keeping up with the war?” Lovino shook his head. “It worries me.” Luca muttered.  </p><p>“I’m sure it worries the Spaniards too.” Lovino said, sipping on his lemonade. He stared at it, the tender color of blush, pale as Emma’s dress. “A friend of mine there is a doctor. I’m sure he’ll stay in Madrid until the war is over, fighting with the Republicans, but I don’t understand why. He’s smart, and the chances of the Republicans winning is slim to none.” Lovino frowned harder at his glass, watching a bit of condensation drip towards the table. </p><p>“Don’t be such a pessimist, Lovino. Don’t you know the story of David and Goliath?” Luca said. </p><p>“I live in Florence, and you think I haven’t heard of David,” Lovino said with obvious contempt. “And come on, think, Luca. The Nationalists have the military. They have Franco and they’ll get Hitler and Mussolini, too.” Lovino said. Luca held up a hand. </p><p>“Hold on.” He insisted. “You know Alfred, that boy who lives next door to me?” Lovino did not know him, but he nodded anyway. In fact, he didn’t know much of anything about Luca’s life as the Luxembourgish ambassador in New York. “His friend Ivan works for Communist International, and they’re recruiting foreign volunteers to help the Spanish Reds.” Lovino leaned on the table in sudden interest. </p><p>“Really?” Abel asked. “How do people sign up?”</p><p>Emma’s chair legs scraped the ground as she sat forward. “You’re not going off to war. And neither are you.” She added, turning to Luca. </p><p>“I was only curious.” Abel snapped. “But come on, Emma, I’m going to have to join a side eventually, whether it’s Spain or home or here in Italy. Even you understand these problems won’t die down on their own, don’t you?” Emma shook her head in disbelief. </p><p>“Are you suggesting there will be a second World War?” She demanded. </p><p>“Do you think Hitler will settle down on his own?” Abel shot back. </p><p>“We can talk about this later.” Luca cut in, watching his siblings glaring at each other. <em> Bless you, Luca </em>, Lovino thought. </p><p>They lapsed into silence, sipping their lemonade, staring at the blue sky. It seemed impossible, with the warm summer and the rosy sugar, that somewhere in the world the skies were grey. </p><p>September wasn’t likely to get all that much colder, but Lovino knew he would miss these sorts of days when they were all over. He would miss the rose lemonade and the sun and maybe the bastardous cicadas and their jagged song too. </p><p>Luca and Abel left after a half an hour to return to their hotel. Emma and Lovino cleaned up the glasses and the half-empty carafe, which Emma rinsed in the sink while Lovino picked up the plates from lunch. </p><p>“Are you alright, Em?” Lovino asked as he set the plates down, touching her shoulder. She nodded, laughing a bit as he tugged at the ribbon in her hair gently because it made her smile.  </p><p>“It’s just… unsettling, all this.” Emma said, then smiled at him. “At least I have you,” she put her hands on his chest, still wet from the tap, and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. He kissed her, but the moment he leaned back her face fell and she let out a sad hiss of breath. “Lovino.” She said. “Tell me, and be honest,” she paused. “Do you love me?” Lovino gripped her arms hard, eyes widening, shocked by her sudden insistence. </p><p>“Yes, Emma.” Lovino said. She stood up on her tiptoes, traced her fingertips against his jaw. </p><p>“Say it.” She whispered, closing her eyes. Lovino cupped her elbows with his hands and pulled her a little closer and leaned to whisper in her ear. </p><p>“I love you, Emma Bruin.” </p><p>“Do you mean it? You’ve been acting strange around me ever since we got home. Do you have a girl in Madrid?”</p><p> “No.” Lovino shook his head. He wouldn’t think of Antonio, he wouldn’t, he <em> would not </em>. Lovino  pulled her close and kissed her, the kind of kiss he would want to mention in confession because it burned his blood. “I love you, Emma,” he said again, fresh with intensity as he kissed her jaw. Emma broke away. </p><p>“Then why don’t you spend time with me anymore? Or kiss me? Or hold my hand, or ask me about my day or tell me about yours or <em> anything </em>?” She was silent, wanting an answer. </p><p>“I… I fell in love in Spain.” The words tripped from Lovino’s mouth and had no time to catch them before they dropped. “But I’m ashamed of it and I’m trying to move past it,” he insisted, squeezing her hands. Emma blinked back her tears and slipped her hands out from under Lovino’s. </p><p>“Maybe it would have been better if we ended this.” She said. “We’d both be happier. Being trapped in a loveless relationship doesn’t do either of us any good.” Emma smoothed her skirt, staring at the tiled floor. “Why won’t you be honest and admit you want her? I know you, Lovino, and you’re lying to me.” Emma’s eyes were shiny with tears, but she didn’t let them fall. </p><p>“I don’t want her, Emma, I only want you.” Lovino said. </p><p>Emma frowned at him. “I don’t understand you." She announced. “You obviously aren’t happy, but you won’t leave me, well…” Her shoulders dropped, the excitement gone out of her. “This is pointless and it’s painful and I’m so tired of it.” She kissed Lovino’s cheekbone, then got her purse from off the kitchen table and turned to the door. Lovino knew he should have run to her, asked her to stay, but he didn’t move. Emma opened the door. “Go to your girl in Spain. I’m sure she’s waiting for you.” </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>_____________</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Antonio rubbed the dried blood off his fingers and picked it from underneath his fingernails, watching it turn the icy tap water muddy as it pooled down into the drain. It stained the towels Marienne handed to him and the scent of it was so strong in the surrounding air the taste lingered at the base of his tongue. He stared at the water running clear until Gilbert slapped him on the shoulder. </p><p>“How are you doing?” Gilbert asked.</p><p>Antonio shut the water off. “Alright.” His voice was hollow. He ran his wet fingers into his hair. </p><p>“They asked us to take a day off.” Gilbert said. Marienne perked up and Gilbert shook his head, leaning on the counter by the sink. “Not you, some surgeons. They say we’re getting messy.” Antonio scoffed and dried his hands off again. </p><p>“Good. I need alcohol.” Antonio said. He looked over at Marienne. “Marienne, bring that French wine Arthur sent you. I want to get<em> luxuriously </em>drunk.” Marienne quirked an eyebrow at him and smiled.</p><p>“Sure.” She said. “I’ll bring the cigarettes too. I’ve never had them before, I don’t even know where they’re from,” she grinned. “They’ve got gold foil tips and they have notes of clove and burned sugar.” Gilbert gave an intrigued nod and they started for the door. Antonio walked to the tram stop and tried not to think of Lovino, rocking back and forth on his heels while Gilbert and Marienne walked down the block for her apartment. He thought of Lovino and dug his hands in his pockets, exhaling. The night was nice. Dusky. Warm. </p><p>When he got home, he turned the lights on and settled down on the couch where he’d sat beside Lovino a lifetime ago while he waited for Gilbert and Marienne. He settled his guitar on his lap and played a few scales, then some solemn chords that didn’t connect. </p><p>The callouses on his fingers were softened from lack of practice and the strings bit down hard into his skin. It hurt, but he kept playing anyway, bits of old songs that he couldn’t quite remember. They trickled up the scale and back down, chords tripping along the melancholy melody. </p><p>A knock on the door. Antonio rested his cheek on the back of the couch, still picking at the strings. “Come in.” He said.</p><p>Gilbert and Marienne marched in with a box of cigarettes and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. They plopped down on either side of Antonio, who got up to put his guitar in its case by the window. Then he sat back down and Marienne handed them a cigarette each. She opened the wine and poured them into the glasses Antonio set out. </p><p>“These are red wine glasses, not white.” Marienne said. </p><p>“I’ll make sure to get the proper ones next time.” Antonio said, attempting sarcasm. </p><p>“Good.” Marienne raised her cigarette to her lips. Her lipstick came off on it. “Arthur has awful taste in wine, but I don’t much care now.” She sighed. “Sometimes I wish I’d tried a little harder with him, you know. I can’t stand him, but at the same time, he’s…” She trailed off, smiling into her wine.</p><p>“I know how you feel. There’s a woman I should be drinking champagne on a balcony in Vienna with.” Gilbert took a long drag on his cigarette, then helped himself to his wine and raising his glass. “Anneliese Edelstein.” They all drank, and then Gilbert bumped Antonio’s arm with his elbow. </p><p>“And you, Antonio?” </p><p>“No one.” Antonio said with a shrug. Marienne laughed.</p><p>“I refuse to believe that. I always know, and you are absolutely<em> yearning </em> for someone, <em> cheri </em>.” Marienne said, earning a frown from Antonio. “You can tell me, Tonio. Is it that pretty nurse who works in the recovery ward with you? What’s her name?” She asked Gilbert, who shrugged. </p><p>“Leave it, Marienne.” Antonio grumbled. </p><p>“The girl from the café? It has to be her, right?” She added. </p><p>“Really, Marienne, leave it.” Antonio groaned again. </p><p>“Oh! The one whose dad owns the photography store!” Marienne perked up.</p><p>“I said leave it!” Antonio snapped. “Sorry.” He added, blushing in embarrassment. Marienne shrugged. </p><p>“<em> Ce n’est pas grâve </em>.” She said, smiling sideways at Antonio. “But, whoever this girl is, she has you up in knots.” Antonio shook his head, but with every beat of his sore heart he knew that wasn’t true.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>October crept out of September and November brought the grey and the cold and the front lines in the form of Franco’s troops. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In October, when Marienne had wine and gold-tipped sugary clove cigarettes, Antonio found himself dreaming of the war ending, hoping for a bright future. He dreamed under the copper sunset while they smoked on the sidewalk at the end of the night or by the radio. He held the smoke in his lungs until it burned, all the while enjoying the last of summer and hoping for the next one.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio lounged on his balcony and listened to the reporters discussing the arrival of the first International Brigades in Albacete from the radio on his bedside table. He closed his eyes to take in the noisy city and breathed in the traces of fall, happy for one lovely moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that was October. Now it was December and Antonio rode the tram to work with soldiers in their boiler’s uniforms, clutching hand-me-down guns, pale-faced and huddled close together in silence. It wasn’t hard to pick out the ones who had never been to the front before.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marienne, Gilbert, and Antonio gave up on listening to the harrowing stories from the fronts; they saw plenty right there in the hospital. Instead they tuned in to stations with warbling singers crooning love songs and even when they started getting bored they listened to them anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t help that winter was coming fast and now the power outages were getting worse. The darkness was heavy and cold and Antonio hated it, especially since the streets were already like oil slicks because the city’s lights were extinguished so no bombers would strike Madrid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of those nights that Antonio’s block had lost electricity he lay awake shuddering in a tight ball in his sheets, desperate to sleep. He should have found it easy to fall asleep given how exhausted he was, but he was freezing. It was too dark to see, but if the lights had been on he was sure he could’ve seen his breath.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhere he heard a low whine, and it was only a few seconds before he realized what it was and jerked upright, shaking off lethargy and sleep. Air-raid sirens, and below them a low roar of planes. Antonio gripped the blankets with stiff fingers and then pulled them back, listening to their hum. They sounded like they were over his building, but they must have been a little further at least. The photos on his bedside table were shivering as if the temperature was getting to them too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio heard panicked voices in the hallway and swung himself out of bed. A few of his neighbors were clustered in the hall, the woman who lived beneath him holding her crying daughter to her chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bombers?” A boy asked. Before Antonio could answer, the boy’s father shook his head and put a hand on his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Russians will chase them away. We need to get into the shelter to be safe.” Antonio nodded and they went downstairs and filed into the small space, the walls cold, rough concrete. They settled the dusty floor in a cramped huddle. The children picked at loose threads on their clothes. The mother tried to quiet her crying baby, who wouldn’t stop no matter what she did. The noise made Antonio’s head pound. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>_____________</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Feliciano watched the rain unfurl down the window to the sill, his gaze traveling up to the knotted grey clouds overhead. Lovino’s train was supposed to arrive at noon, and a cursory glance at the clock over the sink revealed it was nearly one. Feliciano sighed and kept on staring through the glass. He hadn’t seen his brother since Lovino traveled to Spain nine months ago. It had been so long Feliciano had no concept of how much he missed Lovino anymore.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t realize it at all until he saw Lovino walking up the drive to the front steps, head bowed against the storm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feliciano ran to the throw open the door and jumped stood on the veranda, waving with both arms at Lovino. But Lovino was still bared against the wind with his collar flipped up, so Feliciano yelled, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovino!” Lovino quickened his pace and shuddered as he stepped up onto the porch and ducked into the warmth of his home. He let out a breath of relief when Feliciano shut the door behind them and stripped off his coat, hanging it on the peg on the wall. He shook the water from his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ciao</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Feli,” Lovino sounded breathless as he leaned forward and kissed Feliciano on the cheeks. Feliciano threw his arms around Lovino, who allowed his ribs to be near bruised before finally wriggling free. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovi, tell me everything about Spain!” Feliciano exclaimed. “And Emma, how’s Emma? Did you ask her?” He grinned. Lovino turned his back to his coat and fished in the pocket, revealing a small black box covered in crushed velvet which he tossed to Feliciano, who barely caught it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Lovino walked past him into the kitchen and before he could get into the guest room, Feliciano grabbed the back of his sweater. Lovino stopped. “Stop, Feli, you’ll stretch the fabric.” He said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovi, what happened?” Feliciano asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I broke up with her a couple months ago.” Lovino said. Feliciano stared at him, crestfallen, but Lovino would not look at him. He wandered into his old bedroom to shove his suitcase beside the closet, covering his hands with his eyes and dragging his hands down his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He collapsed on the bed and wrinkled his nose; the room smelled like his grandmother’s perfume. She had hung a wooden cross above the headboard after making the place into her temporary residence after Lovino had moved to Florence years ago. He only came back for winter holidays and Easter, so his family had made his room into a nondescript guest room. All his possessions were tucked away in the closet or in Lovino’s apartment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feliciano knocked on the door frame. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feli, leave me alone. I’m tired.” Lovino rolled over towards the windows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want some coffee?” Feliciano asked. “I made cornettos and they’re probably still warm. Nonno put orange glaze on them.” Lovino sighed but got up and followed Feliciano into the kitchen, and Lovino sat down while he watched the rain beyond the windows. “So, you answered my second question, now the first: how was Spain?” Feliciano asked.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino traced the wood grain of the table. He had loved Spain, but mostly because of Antonio. Antonio, who showed him his favorite places in Madrid and played his guitar in the evenings and attempted to impress Lovino with Italian when he was drunk. His voice, his lips, his bright eyes. Lovino would have talked about Antonio and only Antonio for the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening if he could. But he couldn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s not talk about Spain." Lovino said. Feliciano let out an exasperated sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what are we supposed to talk about? You won’t tell me about your trip, or what happened with Emma…” Feliciano plopped down in the chair across from Lovino, giving him a hard stare and sliding a cup of coffee to him. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing for the past year.” Feliciano said. Lovino shrugged and tested the coffee, deemed it too hot, and set it back down. “You seem so upset, Lovi,” Feliciano tried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I’m fucking upset, I just broke up with my girlfriend. Are you stupid?” Lovino snapped. Feliciano stared at him with deep hurt and then looked at his hands. Lovino busied himself with skimming the foam off the top of his macchiato, feeling increasingly guilty at Feliciano’s wounded expression. “I’m sorry, Feliciano. I didn’t mean to yell at you. You’re right. I’m sad, and I feel lonely.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feliciano nodded and stood up to get the cornettos, which he placed on the table and then hugged Lovino again. Lovino resisted like an exhausted, wet cat, before he gave in and patted Feliciano on the arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They finished the coffee and cornettos and Feliciano caught him up on what had been happening at home, but Lovino hardly listened. When he returned to the guest room he tossed himself down onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, listening to the rain, and his heartbeat kicked up. He turned onto his stomach and opened his suitcase, taking out a neat pile of papers resting on his folded clothes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His train tickets to Madrid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since he had come home to Italy he had spent more time than he would have liked staring at ceilings and thinking, and thinking, and thinking. He picked up a stack of books and devoted himself to reading so he wouldn’t have to to think, sitting at the cafés lining the Duomo and in Piazza Santa Maria Novella all swamped in sun. But all the while as he distracted himself, he knew we was still thinking. And the more he thought, the more he was sure he needed to go back to Spain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So when the holidays were over this year, instead of the hour-long ride back to Florence, he would get on a train back to Madrid, and he was going to search every corner of the city until he found Antonio. The prospect of seeing Antonio again made him feel as if his heart was filled up with lovely little honeycombs leaking golden syrup in his veins, overflowing from his heart and pooling in his stomach, leaving him sickening sweet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The days became distracting the closer and closer Christmas got, but when the din of day was over and Lovino lay alone in bed, he was dreaming of Madrid again. He could hardly focus on Christmas, he was too excited for the New Year and his train trip back to Spain. He kept the ticket beneath his pillow when he fell asleep, imagining a thousand different fantasies of stepping off that train and finding Antonio. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They would break away from whatever horrors the war had torn through Madrid and Antonio would play his guitar and sing one of the love songs Lovino heard on the radio. He imagined Antonio’s voice, warm and bassy, like July deepening to August. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino would take Antonio in his arms and kiss him right on the mouth in the middle of the street, and if it were one of those movies the stylish girls in Florence watched at the theatre the orchestra would swell and everyone in the audience would wonder if anyone would ever love them like that. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The train ride wouldn’t go by fast enough. Even the ambience of the car was dull: grey mist pressed against the window there was a rasp of pages as the man across from him made his way through a small square book. He was some quiet Englishman, Arthur, who gave Lovino several squinty looks when he thought Lovino wasn’t paying attention.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino tried to fall asleep to pass the time, but he couldn’t, not even when night came. Arthur settled in and went to sleep, leaving Lovino alone yet burdened by Arthur’s presence all at once. He lit a cigarette and kept staring out the windows. His heart wouldn’t settle. When he finally fell asleep, cheek against the glass frosted with his breath, it continued clamoring against his ribs.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He woke to a snap near the face from his brooding English companion. “We’re here.” He said. Lovino’s eyelids flickered and he sat up, unsticking his cheek from the window. “Good luck with your story.” He said, tipping his hat and leaving the car. Lovino had told Arthur he was a going to Spain to write about the war, get some inspiration for another novel—anyone going to Madrid needed a reason. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Getting off the train would be a relief; it hadn’t been like the luxurious ones he had taken between Rome and Madrid before. Instead it was a warn-down thing so rusty he wondered if it could legally be on the tracks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stiff leather of his suitcase handle hung heavy in his hand as he stepped down onto the platform, glancing around at the thin crowd on the platform. Nothing seemed all that different at first beside the tang of winter. It was overcast, but there were still people on the platforms and getting on trains. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino wandered away from the station to a nearby tram stop to take him into the city center, watching people shuffle by, most warn and drawn, but others moving about their daily life almost contemptuously. He stood beside a mix of these people as they waited for a tram worn-out as Madrid itself to trundle up to them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he sat down, Lovino fell back into his unbreakable habit of looking at the world outside the windows, taking in the warped familiarity of the city. Lovino felt another hit of excitement as they neared Puerta del Sol. He was going to see Antonio, finally, after months or a year or forever and a day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino looked up at the huddle of soldiers sitting beside him, militiamen being carted off to the front lines, watching the city just like he was. Lovino swallowed. He suddenly wanted off the tram and got off two stops later near the hospital. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Lovino turned down the sidewalk, he felt the distinct difference of Madrid, how heavy and shuttered and distant it was. He stayed close the sides of buildings while he made his way towards the hospital, glancing at familiar signs he was worried he had forgotten. Lovino was far from the warm plaza with the printing shop and fabric store that advertised that</span>
  <em>
    <span> trajes de luces</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He wondered if there was anything in the windows now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could start reminiscing the past, he halted at the sound of rustling above him and looked up to see the tip of a rifle vanish on the roof of a little store with shattered windows. Lovino threw himself against the nearest wall, his pulse stuttering in his throat. There was a hum of ragged murmurs above his head and he couldn’t help imagining himself surrounded by fascist soldiers, guns at the ready, pointed at his unquiet heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he froze in place, horrified at the sight of two civilians laying dead on the cold ground ahead of him. They had been shot multiple times, even though they weren’t soldiers at all. They were still dressed in their work clothes, as if they had been taking a break from to grab a coffee from a café.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino stared at them, unable to move, or think, before a hot nothingness blossomed in his shoulder and he was knocked onto the cold street, blood wet beneath his fingers. Lovino pressed his hand to his mouth, tears pricking at his eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve been shot. They shot me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The impact of his head on the street sent black spots popping in his vision and he gulped down a lungful of air, desperate to keep conscious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino dragged himself to the little shop, pulling himself upright and trying to ignore the ringing that had started in his ears that was getting progressively louder. His forehead stung and there was blood slipping into his eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several agitated yells spilled from the roofs above him, and they weren’t Spanish. He leapt through the broken window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> It was like dropping into the pits of Hell, the darkness, the festering smell of what Lovino prayed wasn’t a corpse. He pressed the inside of his elbow to his nose and heard another round of gunshots from outside the shoddy walls. He sank into the carpet-thick shadows, fighting down an urge to be sick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was gunfire and more yelling, then a silence Lovino couldn’t stand as he thought of the dead civilians on the sidewalk. They didn’t care if he wasn’t a soldier. They would kill him anyway. Tears burned in Lovino’s eyes and he covered his mouth so he wouldn’t make a sound. They would kill him. He would die, he would never see Antonio. He would never see anyone anymore. Not little Feli, sitting by the window, not his parents. He wouldn’t come downstairs to the smell of coffee, or lay in the sun, or smell lilacs and fresh grass on a summer night… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave him! They’re on the roof!” Someone yelled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino’s eyes found the body in front of him. His eyes went wide and he covered his mouth to stop himself from crying out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After another second of deliberation, Lovino crawled forward and reached for the body in front of him, his shoulder numb and his stomach still turning over. This was one of the worst things he had ever conceptualized, but what else could he do? He had to do something, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or he would die. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Lovino pulled the deadman towards him and crouched in the darkness, struggling to take his uniform off, fumbling with buckles and smooth buttons that slipped in his trembling hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wriggled out of his travel-rumpled clothes and into the uniform, the numbness in his shoulder gone down to his arm by the time he was finally, albeit poorly, dressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s in there?” Lovino stilled. “I saw you jump in there. Italian? Spanish? German?” Lovino tried to catch his breath before he answered so he might sound more confident. “Answer me before I blow your fucking brains out!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Italian!” Lovino called back, voice cracked from pain. “I… I’m with the Corps of Volunteer Troops.” Lovino added. He prayed that the man outside was a fascist soldier and not a Republican, something he never would have imagined himself hoping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soldier ran into the dark shop. “Were you shot?” Lovino nodded, looking up into the face of his savior, a boy who looked hardly nineteen, his jacket stained with dust and blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I hit my head…” Lovino said, reaching up to touch his forehead, sticky from the clot forming there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whose division were you with?” He asked as Lovino clutched at his bloody sleeve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I can’t remember.” Lovino said. “I don’t recognize this place, maybe… maybe we were on the other side of the plaza.” Lovino’s heart hammered. Would he believe Lovino? Let him go? The wound on Lovino’s temple was shallow, but he touched it with a harsh wince, trying to uplay the head injury as much as he could. “I’m not sure how I got here, everything’s… everything’s…” He didn’t seem convinced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s your name?” He asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A-Aureliano.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Romeo.” Romeo held out a hand and helped Lovino to his feet, cradling his shotgun to his chest. Lovino swallowed when he saw it. “We’ll get you to João. He can help.” Romeo promised, helping Lovino back out onto the street. Lovino felt like he was going to be sick again and he tried to take a deep breath but he was too numb and too scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino walked up to the crowd of people waiting outside, holding their carbines, watching him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“João!” Romeo called. One of the men stepped forward, with a too-clean uniform and a shaven face troublingly like Antonio’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s your last name?” Romeo asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I… I think it’s…” Lovino screwed up his face. He could have made one up, but he didn’t want his memory loss to seem too convenient. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take a look at your papers.” João said, extending a hand. Lovino’s mouth withered. Should he turn and run? No, they would shoot him if he ran. But he was going to be shot anyway, wasn’t he? And as Lovino reached into his breast pocket for the little lump of paper, a coldness ran up through his body and down to every inch of his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was going to die. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He undid the pocket and withdrew them. He handed them to João, and he felt his eyes start to prick. He needed to talk to Antonio, tell him he had come all the way to Spain for him. He had been dreaming of this moment day and night and now he was going to die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>João scanned the papers. “Francisco Feroglio.” Lovino’s lip twitched. He would not cry. He would not cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Francisco?” Romeo echoed. His hand tightened on his gun. Lovino shut his eyes and exhaled out his nose. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I won’t cry, I won’t cry, I </span>
  </em>
  <span>won’t</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He tightened his hands at his sides and stared at João. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Lovino said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re from Assisi.” João said. Lovino nodded. “What can you tell me about that town?” Lovino’s voice cracked when he spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Sir, I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything. My head.” He added, touching his forehead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not one thing?” João asked. Lovino could make something up, but he knew this couldn’t last. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> last. He was going to die. Lovino just stood there, fumbling for words, feeling himself tear up despite his continued determination not to. “What’s wrong with you?” João added, snapping his fingers in front of Lovino’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably some communist shithead the Reds sent to weasel information out of us.” Said one of the men behind Romeo, smiling behind a cigarette. “What are you up to, huh? Want to tell us?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing.” Lovino said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>João deliberated a moment. “It’s war. We can’t trust you’re just going for a stroll.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just shoot him, Romeo.” Said one of the men bordely. Romeo looked at João for permission. João gave the smallest of nods and turned his back on Lovino, unable to meet the eyes of the man he had just condemned to die. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Romeo’s arms quivered as he raised them and pointed the gun at Lovino, who turned and bolted, but he hardly got a foot when they shot him and he fell to the ground. He didn’t get back up. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There was a steady, careful hand on Lovino’s wrist, then on his shoulder and ribs, turning him onto his back on the cold concrete. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovino?” Lovino attempted opening his eyes, but he was too tired. “Lovino?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am… am I dying?” Lovino could hardly hear his own voice. Maybe he hadn’t spoken at all. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die… Please, don’t let me die, I… I have to…” Lovino reached for more words, tears making his eyelids shiver.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t. It’s me, it’s Antonio.” Lovino’s heart broke. He wanted to touch Antonio’s face, or his arm, or any part of him at all, but his arms were too heavy and he felt too sick. All he could do was lay still while reality slipped underneath his spine, concentrating all his energy on speaking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Antonio?” Lovino coughed and he was racked with sharp aches, blood from his split lip dribbling down his chin. He tried to raise his arm again, but his body resisted all movement. He felt tears slipping down his temples into his hair and in his muddled brain all he could imagine was how pathetic he must look, crying and barely able to talk or move or do anything at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be fine.” Antonio insisted. “The hospital isn’t too far. Hang on a little bit longer.” Antonio said, picking Lovino up from the ragged ground. Lovino forced open his eyes, one of which was cloudy with blood from the wound on his forehead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to tell you something… It’s… it’s important.” Lovino rasped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It can wait.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it can’t.” Lovino whispered, trying his hardest to step one foot in front of the other, but he barely had the strength to stand. Antonio slung his arm across Lovino’s lower back, holding him upright by his belt loop as they walked towards the edge of the plaza. Lovino’s knees buckled and he fell against Antonio’s side, bringing them both down onto the sidewalk. He tried to apologize, but the world was fading too fast and he didn’t even know if he was on the ground or standing up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t do it. I’m so tired.” Lovino said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. We’re all tired.” Antonio’s voice was soothing, and Lovino leaned against Antonio, just wanting to be close to him. “It’s not much farther, Lovino, I promise you. It’ll all be alright.” Antonio said with so much reassurance that for the first time since Lovino collapsed on the pavement, he started to believe he would live after all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio picked him up off the ground and Lovino went limp in his arms. He didn’t want to hold the weight of his body anymore, it was all too heavy, and the world was shrinking around him. He wanted to fall asleep so that when he woke up, if he did at all, this would all be over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they reached the hospital, Lovino’s breathing was shallow and uneven, and it became a strain to try to process any bit of reality. His nose burned with anesthetic and his bare skin stung, pale and cool but prickled with sweat. He thought he was going to throw up but he couldn’t turn himself over. He couldn’t move at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then everything was a little bit softer, sweeter, and the pain left him and the numbness too. Lovino forced a twitch out of his fingertips against the stiff mattress. His eyelids flickered open, relieved that his vision was no longer lopsided. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing Lovino saw was Antonio, his worried face, his hair slicked back with Brillantine. He sat in front of one of the curtains separating the beds, checking a drip of deep red running into the vein on the inside of Lovino’s forearm. Lovino’s stomach clenched at the sight of the draining blood bag and the needle sticking out of his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Antonio?” Lovino’s voice cracked. Antonio looked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you feel?” Antonio asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shitty.” Lovino rasped. “And thirsty.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I expected as much.” He pulled the curtain back. “Marienne? Would you get Lovino some water?” Marienne nodded and she turned away, the heels she wore clicking on the linoleum floors. “Thank you.” Antonio smiled as she handed a cup of water to him and closed the curtain again. Lovino struggled to sit up, the hard pillows pressing on his aching shoulder and back. He gritted his teeth and wrestled with the pillows but Antonio held Lovino back and fixed them for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you in pain?” Antonio asked, and Lovino nodded. “Where does it hurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I tell you, are you going to push on it?” Lovino asked, sounding tired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to see if it’s muscle or bone or something else.” Lovino sighed, looking upset.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Water first?” Antonio nodded, handing him the cup. Lovino’s hand shook too much and a bit of the water spilled onto his chest. Antonio held his hand to keep it steady and helped him drink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better?” Antonio asked, putting the empty cup aside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Lovino said. “Do I still have bullets in me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. We got them out, but I don’t expect you to remember seeing as you were half-dead and drugged.” Antonio said. “Can you sit up?” Lovino tried to straighten up as much as his sore body would allow. He was aching all over and gave a weak protest when Antonio touched him. “I’m sorry, I know it hurts. I’ll have Marienne give you medicine for the pain later, okay? The last dose needs to wear off first.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It has.” Lovino said as Antonio guided him back against the pillows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It has not. It takes six hours.” Antonio exhaled. “You’ve never liked banter, so I won’t waste time with that.” Antonio glared at him. “Why the everliving hell are you fighting for Franco?” Antonio asked. Lovino dragged his shaking hands over his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not.” Lovino insisted. “I stole that uniform off some corpse because I thought they might let me go if I was one their side, they, they shot two civilians and I thought they’d shoot me too. I was a dumbass, but, Antonio, I was so desperate to get away, I, I couldn’t die before…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Before what?” Antonio asked. He opened his mouth to go on, but it was then Lovino remembered what he had taken two bullets for. He forced himself to lean towards Antonio and put a hand against his throat, his thumb brushing Antonio’s Adam’s apple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I kiss you?” Lovino whispered. Antonio stared at him for several seconds, all beautiful incredulity. His breathing slowed and he got closer, touching his forehead to Lovino’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Antonio murmured, shutting his eyes in silent invitation. Lovino kissed him, and it really was like coming up for air when he was burning for it. He breathed Antonio in until his lungs poured over, hand tightening on Antonio’s neck just enough to feel how hard he was making Antonio’s heart beat. When Lovino broke the kiss Antonio chased his lips, wanting one last sip of the sunset on his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why.” Lovino whispered. Antonio stared at him in the artificial white lights, his pupils dilated. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip, looking as if he had lost himself somewhere that glittered with gold that he never wanted to find his way back from. “I told you, didn’t I? That I’d come back to Spain once I’d thought it through?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re out of your goddamn mind.” Antonio gasped, but he was grinning beneath the scorn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m romantic.” Lovino replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And probably still a bit drugged. We’ll talk about this in the morning.” Antonio turned away, and since he was supposed to be livid, he didn’t let Lovino see him smile. He went downstairs and sat in one of the staff break rooms, running his hands over his hair. He had that taste of Lovino back on his lips, his tongue, in his mouth. He closed his eyes, exhaustion pulling down at his shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marienne gripped his shoulder and shook it, and he opened his eyes, blinking. He was shocked to see the sun was halfway down the sky and panicked, staring at Marienne.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I fall asleep?” He rasped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I assume so, since I’ve been looking for you for the past hour.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Surgery, I had a surgery scheduled—” Antonio stood up, pressing a hand to his forehead, which ached from dehydration and hunger. He hadn’t gone home for two days and had slept in this same chair the night before, not wanting to leave the hospital when there had been fighting in the streets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not until five. It’s only three.” Marienne said. “I came looking for you because that man you brought in off the street started bleeding again and he says the medicine isn’t doing anything and he’s in pain.” She sighed, watching Antonio rub at his face. “I told you you need a break.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t afford one, Marienne.” Antonio said. “We don’t have enough doctors to keep up with everyone coming from the front.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marienne frowned. “I told you, didn’t I? Comintern is sending us many volunteers as they can.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which is zero, so far.” Antonio grumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be patient.” Marienne insisted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sick of being patient, people are </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Antonio snapped. “If they wanted to help us, they would be here by now. They wouldn’t be wasting time, we’re in a goddamn crisis and if we don’t get support soon Madrid is going under.” Antonio said. Marienne retaliated, but he pushed past her and went into the ward upstairs to see Lovino. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marienne said you’re in pain and that you’re bleeding again.” Lovino nodded, and he had the sort of grimace on his face Antonio was used to seeing. Most of the soldiers didn’t like to show they were in pain or close to tears, so they had that same sort of indignant, almost irritated look. Antonio sat down beside him and eased him forward in a sitting position, drawing his thin shirt over his head. He put a hand on Lovino’s good shoulder and tilted him forward. He had bled through the bandages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there something wrong?” Lovino asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Antonio said, working on taking the bandages off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I shouldn’t be bleeding again, should I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not uncommon.” Antonio said. “You’re alright, I promise.” Antonio promised, running a hand down Lovino’s arm. Lovino glanced sideways at Antonio’s fingers, slumping against his hand. There was silence for several minutes while Antonio stopped the bleeding and rebandaged his back, considering the empty blood bag for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your lip split again.” Antonio said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was picking at it. I’m sorry. Bad habit.” Lovino muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll put bacitracin on it,” he said, getting up to go to the cart by the wall. “It won’t hurt.” He promised at Lovino’s apprehensive look.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino parted his lips and tried his very hardest not to breathe as Antonio dabbed it on his lip lightly. Lovino met Antonio’s eyes and flicked the tip of his tongue against Antonio’s finger. Antonio pulled his hand back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Antonio asked. Lovino raised his eyebrows and Antonio shook his head and fixed Lovino’s blankets, made sure the curtain was closed, and kissed him on the forehead. “Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.” </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>But Lovino didn’t see Antonio in the morning. Instead, he was greeted by the nurse Marienne with more painkillers and a far too heavy breakfast to wash it down with. Lovino only made it halfway through the greasy stew but enjoyed the roll and white wine. He didn’t ask for Antonio, not even after a week had passed in a mess of food, pills, and morphine delusions. Lovino knew Antonio was busy and that he didn’t exactly require any attention, since the only thing needed was to be fed and filled with analgesics. </p><p>When he was allowed out of bed he sat upstairs by the windows upstairs in the common area, tapping his fingers on the sill as he watched the backs of buildings. He was there again a week after he had come to the hospital, his chin in his hand, sighing out his boredom, when he heard his name and looked up. </p><p>“Lovino! I have terrific news!” Antonio said, sitting down across from him.</p><p>“Yeah?” Lovino asked. </p><p>“Comintern finally sent us volunteers.” Antonio said. “Marienne’s nephew Matthieu from Quebec is here, and her little sister too, plus a group of doctors from California and New York.”  </p><p>“Does this mean you’ll get a break?” Lovino asked. </p><p>Antonio gave a noncommittal shrug and shifted his weight. “Probably not.” He said, checking his watch. “I get off soon, which reminds me. I signed your discharge papers. You can leave tonight.” Antonio hesitated for a moment, then said, “do you want to come back with me to my flat, or do you want me to recommend a hotel?” </p><p>Lovino smiled. “Your flat, please,” he said. </p><p>“Okay,” Antonio said. “My shift’s over in an hour. I’ll see you then.” Antonio smiled and stood up, leaving Lovino to sit and give a gloating smile to the surrounding buildings. </p><p>Antonio was late, as Lovino expected, but he came, and then he and Lovino went into smoky evening to the tram stop. Lovino leaned his head against the glass, rattling with the movement of the car, and he looked over at Antonio’s hands curled in his lap. He wished he could reach over and take one. </p><p>Antonio’s apartment building was shuttered and quiet. The flower boxes hugging the unpleasant yellow walls were empty spare one hanging from the bottom floor, overflowing with gazanias. </p><p>They walked up the creaking steps that smelled like wood and stale tobacco smoke to Antonio’s apartment, which filled Lovino with a sense of relief; the lights were warm and the shades of brown and matte gold were soft on his eyes after the harsh colorlessness of the hospital. </p><p>Lovino settled on the couch and hid his face in the blanket draped over the side, inhaling its faint smell of Antonio, of cologne and the mellowed scent of laundry. He closed his eyes and pushed his face into the soft fleece, drifting through faint memories of summer. He heard Antonio return from washing his hands in the kitchen to shut the windows, sighing as he watched the turmoiled sky.</p><p>Antonio sat down beside him and sighed, rubbing his face with his wet hands and sighing. Lovino curled up beside him and took his hand and kissed him, pressing his cheek to Antonio’s knuckles and sighing. Antonio tilted Lovino’s face up with light fingers and kissed him. When he leaned back, he reached to touch Lovino’s cheek, and that subtle movement plucked something soft and staccato from Lovino’s heartstrings. </p><p>Antonio’s eyes were closed, his touch lazy, and suddenly Lovino’s whole body seemed to soften, become something delicate and fragile that needed to by held close. He shut his eyes too, snuggling his cheek into Antonio’s hand. </p><p>“Can I touch you?” Antonio whispered, his breath catching on Lovino’s lips. Lovino nodded, putting his arms around Antonio’s shoulders and kissing him again. </p><p>Antonio’s hand slid underneath Lovino’s shirt, fingers tracing the softness of his toned stomach. Lovino’s abdomen tensed as Antonio undid the button of his pants with his thumb and forefinger and slid his hand down between Lovino’s thighs. </p><p>Lovino pulled his breath in through his teeth and turned his head to the side, but Antonio put his other hand on Lovino’s jaw and turned Lovino’s face towards his own. “No, don’t look away, sweetheart. I want to see your face.” </p><p>Lovino shivered, moving his legs further apart and letting out a stifled gasp. Antonio touched a finger to Lovino’s chin. </p><p>“Shh,” Antonio murmured. “These walls aren’t particularly soundproof.” He cautioned, glancing at the ceiling. Lovino grabbed Antonio’s shoulders and moved his hips back and forth, wriggling to fuck himself on Antonio’s hand. “<em> Lovino </em>,” Antonio pressed his hand over Lovino’s mouth. “Sh.” He said again. </p><p>Lovino couldn’t be quiet. He moaned and gasped and cursed against Antonio’s palm, his breaths coming in quick gasps out his nose. When he came he had to bite down on the knuckle of Antonio’s pointer finger to keep his mouth shut, and Antonio winced and had to pull his hand back.                                           </p><p> Antonio wiped the cum off his fingers on the inside of his shirt. Lovino watched him through his lashes, grinning at Antonio, who stood up. </p><p>“Hey, Tonio. Come here.” He murmured. Antonio slunk over to him. “You didn’t think I was going to leave you to deal with yourself, did you?” He asked. Antonio checked his watch. </p><p>“Goddamnit. I have to file some stuff for the hospital before seven.” He groaned. “But we’ve got all night.” He said. Lovino sighed. “Let’s just hope you don’t have a lengthy refractory period.” </p><p>“A <em> what</em>?” Lovino asked. </p><p> “A refractory period. How long after an orgasm you can’t get an erection.” Antonio added with a shrug, leaning on his chin and smiling at Lovino, who was mock-shuddering. “What? You don’t appreciate my educated doctor talk?” Antonio asked with a smirk, slinking closer. Lovino planted a foot on Antonio’s chest and extended his leg to push Antonio back. </p><p>“It’s the opposite of arousing.” He said, wrinkling his nose. </p><p>“Well, that doesn’t matter, as you can’t start a new arousal cycle for a bit, because you are in a <em> refractory period </em>.” Antonio said.</p><p>“<em>Arousal cycle </em>? Is that the scientific term?” </p><p>“It’s accepted.” Antonio said, rubbing Lovino’s ankle. “Would you like me to explain the four phases?” Lovino shook his head and Antonio heaved a sad sigh. “And here I was, thinking my medical tirades would really get someone excited.” Antonio sighed again, leaning against the side of the couch. </p><p>“It’s a disappointing word.” Lovino said, dropped his leg and leaning forward to kiss Antonio. </p><p>“I’ve got to get those reports done and start dinner. Let me know if you need anything.” Antonio said, leaning back.</p><p>“Can I use your shower, please? And your typewriter?” Lovino asked. “I have to keep writing, my editor wants my next chapter at the end of the week.” Antonio nodded, pointing Lovino into his office, which was so messy he took it as a personal offense. He showered before Antonio and then spent the rest of the evening straightening the desk and sitting down to write with the warm smell of cooking. </p><p>For that moment, with his fingers poised on the worn keys, he imagined there was no war, only Antonio and himself in this little flat above the city.</p><p>He was so lost in his fantasy he spooked when Antonio drummed knocked on the door frame. </p><p>“There’s dinner. Please go easy on me, I’m not a good cook.” </p><p>“You’re right.” Lovino announced after finishing his rice. “I applaud your effort, but I’ll cook you something tomorrow night. Whatever you want.” Antonio smiled. </p><p>“Can you make <em> patatas bravas</em>? My mom used to make it for me when I was sad.” </p><p>“Are you sad?” Lovino asked. </p><p>“I am.” Lovino took his hands and pushed himself up on his toes to kiss Antonio’s forehead. </p><p>“I’m sorry.” Lovino whispered. “Is there anything I can do?” Antonio shook his head. Lovino hugged him and Antonio hugged him back, nuzzling Lovino’s hair and sighing. Lovino rocked him on the spot gently and Antonio hugged him harder. </p><p>The walked out onto Antonio’s balcony with the dregs of wine in their glasses. Lovino leaned on the railing as he looked down at Madrid, holding his glass in slack fingers. The city should have been lit up at night, but the lights were still all out in case of the bombers. </p><p>Antonio went back inside when he started getting cold and eventually Lovino followed him. He sat on the edge of his bed and took out his guitar, picking at random pitches. Lovino got down next to him and put his head on Antonio’s shoulder. Antonio set his cheek on Lovino’s hair, and Lovino snuggled closer to him. Antonio’s heart melted. </p><p>“Do you mind if I play something?” He whispered. </p><p>“Would you?” Lovino asked. Antonio nodded and sat up, pulling towards his stomach. </p><p>“It’s an Andalusian folk song I love.” He said, starting with a set of tight, rapid chords underneath his soft singing. Lovino felt like he had fallen into one of his dreams on the rattling train from Italy. Antonio’s voice was low, warm like the salt wind off the coast of Alicante in summer. </p><p>As much as he loved Antonio’s playing, Lovino adored Antonio’s singing without it as he sang the chorus acapella, a hot rasp speckling the notes. Lovino closed his eyes and tapped his foot with the pulse of the song, evening bobbing his head a little by the time Antonio strummed the final chord with zeal.</p><p>“Thoughts?” Antonio asked. Lovino nuzzled his neck.</p><p>“Beautiful.” Lovino sighed, hiding his face against Antonio’s shoulder as if embarrassed. Then he laid his cheek on Antonio’s shoulder and looked up at him. </p><p>“What?” Antonio asked, grinning at him. Lovino shrugged. Antonio kissed him on the nose.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lovino ran his hand down Antonio’s arm, studying the way the night-light played across his body. He wanted to stare at Antonio forever, trace every feature, memorize them all, study them until he would see them when he closed his eyes. </p><p>He felt Antonio’s fingers on his wrist. </p><p>“You’re nervous,” Antonio whispered, and his voice seemed softer but fuller because it was night and they were so close. He could feel the faint heat off Antonio’s skin, and his own prickled relentlessly with the desire to reach out and touch him. </p><p>“I’m not,” Lovino said.</p><p>“Yes, you are.” Antonio reached out and touch his shoulder, and he startled, frowning at Antonio’s quirked eyebrow. “You’re tense all over, and you have to relax or it’s going to hurt.” Lovino blanched a little. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I won’t hurt you. I know the anatomy.” </p><p>“If you start with some medical tirade I’m shutting this down,” Lovino said. </p><p>“Oh, right, you love your romance,” Antonio said. Lovino didn’t answer, but smiled as Antonio kissed the curve of his throat. “Come on, you have to tell me what you want,” Antonio hummed against his neck. </p><p>“I do not,” Lovino said.</p><p>“You are unbelievably difficult,” Antonio said, reaching up to run his fingers through Lovino’s hair and then kiss him beneath his ear. He slid down Lovino’s chest, then his ribs and to his waist all the way down to his knee. Lovino held onto Antonio’s back, which slipped away to his neck and then his hair with its scent of coffee and cologne as he moved lower and lower. </p><p>Antonio kissed him all over, gently stroking Lovino’s body until some of the tightness had gone out of it. </p><p>“You feel better?” Antonio asked, pushing Lovino’s hair off his forehead. Lovino nodded. “Okay.” Antonio kissed the side of his temple. “Lay on your side.” Lovino wished he could have faced Antonio, but he trusted him, so he did as he was told. Antonio put a leg over Lovino’s hip, massaging his thigh and kissing his nape lightly. </p><p>“I’m fine,” Lovino promised. Antonio nodded and grazed Lovino’s arm with the edges of his knuckles, kissing the top of his shoulders. Then his fingers were on Lovino’s face, soft, delicate, making Lovino’s hairs stand on end. Antonio bit the back of his trapezius and laughed under his breath again when Lovino let out a sharp breath. </p><p>Antonio took his time, his torturous time, licking and kissing Lovino’s skin like he was desperate to taste every texture of him. Lovino squirmed, chewing at the inside of his lip as that prickle under his skin got worse, got hot and too prominent to ignore. </p><p>“Why are you taking so long?” Lovino gasped finally, pushing his ass back against Antonio’s hips. </p><p>“I just want to make you feel good,” Antonio said, running a hand down Lovino’s arm. </p><p>“Now I seem like an ass, since I’m laying here doing nothing.” Lovino grumbled to the wall.</p><p>“I don’t have pure motivations.” Antonio pressed his tongue down to the spot his lips had just left and Lovino closed his eyes. “Does that make it better?” </p><p>“Slightly,” Lovino muttered. Antonio laughed, low and soft, against his back. Lovino shivered at the feeling of his breath. </p><p>“Besides, pleasure helps you relax,” Antonio said. </p><p>“I’m relaxed,” Lovino said. </p><p>“Alright, alright, <em> corazoncito</em>,” Antonio whispered, kissing Lovino between the shoulderblades, near the bandage over the bullethole in his back. </p><p>Antonio’s fingers crawling along his cheek and he dipped a finger in Lovino’s mouth. Lovino grazed his teeth along his first knuckle and sucked at it shamelessly. He loved how Antonio touched him and he didn’t want one bit of control over his own body anymore, wanted Antonio to have it all. And he wanted Antonio to know, so he dragged his breath in through his teeth, coloring his moans with his favorite curses even though Antonio begged him to be quiet. </p><p>“Alright, deep breath, Lovi,” Antonio whispered, his hand slinking back underneath Lovino’s arm to settle on his stomach, feeling the rise of fall of his diaphragm. Lovino filled his lungs with the smoky summer air coming in through the closed curtains, filling his mouth and his nose with the dusk until he couldn’t hold it anymore. </p><p>Antonio gave a shaky exhale against Lovino’s ear, wrapping his leg tighter around him. He exhaled slowly and grabbed Antonio’s wrist, digging his nails in. </p><p>Before tonight, Lovino didn’t believe that something really could feel so good that he wanted to roll his eyes back or that his entire body burned with a lovely, undulating pleasure that undid him to the point he couldn’t do anything but let a series of incoherent sounds spill from his lips.  </p><p>“Ssh, Lovinito,” Antonio whispered for what must have been the twentieth time, fumbling for his discarded clothes. “Open your mouth.” </p><p>Lovino obliged, and Antonio stuffed the balled-up sleeve of his shirt in. “My landlady will murder me if she knows I’m engaging in premarital—<em>fuck</em>,” Antonio gasped again as Lovino rocked his hips back against Antonio. </p><p><em> It’s not so easy, is it? </em> Lovino thought. Antonio bit down on Lovino’s shoulder to keep himself quiet, and Lovino felt his heavy breaths wetting his skin. His legs quaked a little as he dug his fingers into Antonio’s sheets, tensing every muscle in his body to get himself to the release he wanted so badly. </p><p>And when he got it he pressed his face into the mattress and nearly suffocated himself panting into it, suddenly feeling very warm and exhausted as though he hadn’t slept in a thousand nights. Antonio was panting out his nose into Lovino’s neck, his heartbeat beginning to slow as they lay still. Lovino rolled over and pushed Antonio’s sweaty hair away from his forehead, still breathing hard. </p><p>“Are you okay?” Antonio asked. “No pain?” he added, taking Lovino’s hand. </p><p>“No. I’m fine,” Lovino said. “And it doesn’t matter, does it? You’re a doctor, you can fix what you break.”  </p><p>“Dear God, Lovino,” was all Antonio could say. He got up to get a towel while Lovino tried to somehow suavely wipe the leftover cum off his stomach. </p><p>“I still can’t believe you came to goddamn Madrid for me,” Antonio said, falling back onto the bed and propping himself up on his arm to play with Lovino’s hair. He smiled down at Lovino, his closed eyes, his faint smile. “We all deserve a miracle.”</p><p>Lovino opened his eyes. “A miracle?” he repeated. “You’re too much, Antonio.” Antonio laughed and kissed him on the cheek, then leaned over on the bedside table for a thin case of cigarettes. He took one and offered a second to Lovino, who slid it between his teeth. The night that came through the curtains shadowed Antonio’s face, the little spark from his lighter illuminating the curve of his cupid’s bow.</p><p>Lovino laid against Antonio’s chest and Antonio slipped an arm around him, resting his hand over his heart. </p><p>“These are good,” Lovino said. </p><p>“I know,” Antonio said. “Marienne gets them from her English lover. Arthur. He’s some British Intelligence agent,” Antonio added in what might have been an attempt at a British accent. </p><p>“That was the name of the Englishman on my train. We shared a compartment,” Lovino said. “He seemed sort of shifty. Then again, I guess everyone on that train did,” he mused, tapping his cigarette over the edge of the bed and watching the ashes flutter towards the carpet. “Diplomats, spies, journalists, those sorts of people. I said I was looking for material for my next novel.” </p><p>“Like Hemingway.” Antonio said.</p><p>Lovino shook his head. “No. Now tell me about Arthur.” </p><p>“He lives in some big house in London, Marienne says, and he has friends who own vineyards in Tuscany and Bordeaux. He went to one of those English public schools where they beat you with a cane if you break the rules and he studied the classics his whole childhood.” </p><p>“Ah, so a bona fide British bastard,” Lovino said. “I wonder what he’s up to in Madrid. Maybe he was trying to be romantic and surprise Marienne?” </p><p>“I doubt it,” Antonio said. “She uses him for wine and cigarettes and sex to my knowledge. He’s probably part of some plot from the British to keep an eye on us, make sure we don’t stir up another Great War and cause trouble for them.” </p><p>Antonio turned his cheek to look out the windows. He imagined the little flashes of white outside were snowflakes catching dim moonlight, but he knew it was where the Nationalists were shelling. Lovino was looking at them too, but he couldn’t stand to for very long. He finished his cigarette and pulled the blanket up to Antonio’s hips, curling up against his thigh, breathing in the smell of heat trapped under the sheets and Antonio’s warm skin. </p><p>Antonio kept playing with Lovino’s hair idly, staring at the ceiling. Lovino stretched his arm over his waist and hugged at his torso. </p><p>“You’re very affectionate when you want to be,” Antonio noted, running his fingers through Lovino’s hair. </p><p>“I like being close to you,” Lovino whispered against his leg. Antonio stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. Then he lay facing Lovino and drew him tight to himself. He shivered and held him closer so the chill couldn’t get to them. “I’m so sorry for what I said to you, Antonio.” Antonio squinted. “That night you kissed me, back in July,” he whispered. </p><p>“Water under the bridge,” Antonio said. </p><p>“It shouldn’t be. I was so awful to you. I’m really, really, sorry, and I need to say more than that but I don’t think there’s another way to say it. I want you to know you didn’t deserve that and I would beat the shit out of my past self if I could. Knock his teeth out and his nose backwards.” </p><p>“Okay, okay, I get it,” Antonio said. “Thank you for saying that.”</p><p>Lovino sighed. “You’re a saint, Antonio,” he yawned. Antonio yawned too. He laid down next to Lovino, sinking down so he was against Lovino’s chest. Lovino cradled Antonio’s head to his chest and kissed the top of it. He smoothed Antonio’s hair and then pressed his face to it. Antonio gave a happy little hum against his sternum and snuggled close to him. </p><p>Lovino closed his eyes and smiled. <em> I love him. </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If anyone has any prompts they’d like to send my way please do, I’d love to write some one shots :D<br/>(lady--lisa.tumblr.com)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The stalemate that had been dragging on through the winter dissolved into trench warfare as January drew to a close. Lovino sat beside the radio and listened to reports from the front lines about the Nationalist army’s determined strike to cut off Madrid. He braced himself for the city to constrict, not letting out his breath until he heard the International Brigades had held them off. </p><p>But despite the success, the casualties had been staggering, and Antonio was hardly ever home. </p><p>He stayed at Antonio’s typewriter all day, often staring out the window, waiting on inspiration to brush by his cheek or grab his hand. He took it upon himself to organize Antonio’s office, and while he knew better than to read patient files, he couldn’t help but glance over copies of hospital documents that kept track of the recent patients that had been treated, almost exclusively soldiers. It was a monotonous list of names, ages, nationalities, and the cause and time of death if there was one.  </p><p>Lovino felt purposeless sitting in the study, alone with a pile of blank papers and a typewriter. He was restless with the usual ache for Antonio, but he crushed it down, reminding himself that Antonio needed to do his job. And he worked hard. Too hard, in Lovino’s opinion. </p><p>When Antonio got home, he collapsed on the couch and fell asleep in his work clothes without dinner, leaving him exhausted and starving throughout every day. He complained about bad headaches from dehydration and low blood sugar, and finally Lovino knew he had to do something or Antonio would waste away. He stayed up to wait for Antonio and made him eat dinner, drink some water, and change. Antonio always gave him a sleepy smile and kissed his hand when Lovino smoothed the blankets over his arm and kissed him goodnight. </p><p>Then he put the leftovers away in the kitchen and sometimes had a cigarette on the balcony, flicking his ashes down at the dark streets and trying not to feel miserable. Then he brushed his teeth to get the smoke out of his mouth before finally settling into bed. </p><p>He snuggled up to Antonio’s chest and tried to forget the war. The men on the trams being carried off to the hell of the trenches. The bodies he had seen carried through the streets, shelled beyond recognition, their skin colored with dirt and dried blood. </p><p>Lovino closed his eyes and thought of home, because he was lonely and the loneliness made him pound with homesickness. He was tired from exhausting his Spanish every day and ached for familiarity when all he saw was the faded romance of a foreign capital. </p><p>But at least Antonio was getting sleep, and Madrid was still standing. </p><p>Antonio didn’t start getting home any earlier until after the fighting at the Jarama River ended. Not early enough for Lovino, but he knew he couldn’t be picky.  </p><p>Lovino sighed and ran his hands over his face, glancing at the half-written sentence on the paper in front of him. There was a knock on the door and his head snapped up to see Antonio push it open. </p><p>“Hey. Are you working?” he asked. </p><p>“Taking a break,” Lovino said. He hesitated a brief second, and then because the reports on the radio kept getting worse and he missed Antonio so much, he threw himself into his arms. </p><p>“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, running a hand over Lovino’s hair. “Are you alright?” </p><p>“Lonely,” Lovino said. </p><p>“I know. I’m sorry,” Antonio said, touching Lovino’s cheek. “I have good news, though. They’re giving me a day off tomorrow, so you have me all to yourself tonight. It was my birthday last week, and I was wondering if you want to grab a drink with me to celebrate. There’s a charming bar down the street, and by charming I mean we’ll probably get food poisoning, but it’s one of the few places close by that’s…” <em> Safe? </em> Lovino wondered.  </p><p>“You didn’t tell me it was your birthday!” Lovino snapped, grabbing his tie. Antonio gave an awkward shrug. “I cannot <em> believe </em>you didn’t tell me.” </p><p>“You were already doing so much for me, I didn’t want you to stress about that.” He said. </p><p>Lovino shook his head. “Fine.” He put his hand over Antonio’s and kissed his palm. “But don’t feel bad about me, I know you’re busy,” Lovino said. Antonio hugged him again, hands clasped against Lovino’s lower back. </p><p>“I know, but I still feel guilty.”</p><p>“Don’t. Now let’s go get that drink, I need to get out of here,” Lovino said, taking Antonio’s hand and leading him down the hall to get his coat. He held Antonio’s out for him.</p><p>“Thank you,” Antonio said. </p><p>The bar wasn’t far, only about a twelve minute walk. Once it might have been an inviting place, but now it was dingy if clean enough. The walls were covered with antiquated bullfighting posters from Valencia and Barcelona, and it smelled of tobacco and cheap wine. Soldiers sat in the corner in grubby uniforms, sipping suspicious spirits and talking in hushed voices like they were somewhere that radiated the necessity not to be disturbed.</p><p>They picked a table by one of the posters and Antonio got two glasses of white wine. </p><p>“To you,” Lovino said, raising his glass. They both drank, and Lovino resisted gagging. The wine was harsh on his tongue and peppery when he swallowed. Antonio gave a knowing smile at his expression and leaned forward to whisper. </p><p>“I agree, it’s God awful,” he said, then sat back. “Twenty-nine,” he sighed. “I’m going to miss my twenties when I’m an old man of thirty.” Lovino rolled his eyes. </p><p>“I wish we could’ve been together before all this,” Antonio said abruptly. “It was imperfect, Madrid, but was so alive with light, with people, with music I danced to every night…” Antonio trailed off. “I know you’ve heard this story before, but I growing up in that little Basque town, I always wanted to get out of there, to move to the city. And when I finally moved here, it was all I ever wanted, at least for a while.” Antonio smiled at his wine. “I loved the pulse of the city, the grit of it.” </p><p>Lovino swirled his wine around as though it might do something to fix the miserable flavor. “What happened?” he whispered. </p><p>“I think you know well enough.” Lovino just stared at the table. “It was jarring for me, seeing how people reacted to it all. Everyone took sides. My neighbor… he was so kind to me when I first moved, teaching me how to read the tram schedules and showing me around the downtown. And then he enlisted in the fascist army the second the coup happened.” Antonio swallowed and took a sip of his wine. “I felt so betrayed.” </p><p>Antonio flicked at the stem of his wine glass. “Sorry, I guess that’s a bit dark for—”</p><p>“Nothing compared to the day-to-day, right?” Lovino sipped his wine. It burned his mouth. “So many of the people I’ve seen on those hospital documents… They’re so young,” Lovino muttered. “Sixteen, some of them younger, fathers…” </p><p>
  <span>“It’s brutal,” Antonio agreed. “What matters more? You, or your country? Some of them seem to think it’s the country right until the moment they die, and then they don’t care anymore. They want to see their kids one last time, or tell someone who they never did that they loved them. They grab my arm and tell me these things, and other times all they say is </span>
  <em>
    <span>I need my mama</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and that’s the last thing they say before they die.” </span>
</p><p> Antonio shivered and forced down the rest of his atrocious wine. Lovino copied him. </p><p>“I’m impressed I haven’t become an alcoholic.” </p><p>“How do you think the war will end?” Lovino asked. “Can the Republic beat the military?” Lovino felt a tenseness in the silence that he wasn’t used to feeling and Antonio wouldn't meet his eyes. </p><p>“No,” he choked out. “We have the Russians, but they’re fickle to work with sometimes, not that I’m ungrateful,” he insisted quickly. “But how are we supposed to compete with Franco when he has Hitler and Mussolini backing him? </p><p>“I try so hard to tell myself we can win, that after the mess of these first months things will turn around for us. The battle at the Jarama gave me a bit of hope, but now everything feels pointless again; nothing is happening, nothing is <em> changing </em>.</p><p>“We’re fighting a losing war.” </p><p>More of that tense, uneven silence. “Will you stay in Spain if Franco wins?” Lovino asked. </p><p>“Y-yes?” Antonio shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about the future. The more I do, the more hopeless everything seems.” Lovino muttered a low apology. “It’s not your fault,” Antonio insisted. “I wanted to ask you something, though. Why are you staying here?” </p><p>“I thought that was obvious,” Lovino said. </p><p>“I meant, why not wait for me in Italy?” Antonio asked. “You wouldn’t be so isolated, and you could come back as soon as the war ended.” </p><p>“Because I love you,” Lovino said, and his voice had so much conviction it sounded almost angry. Then he flinched, a hand over his mouth. “Too soon?” Antonio shook his head. </p><p>“Not at all, Lovi. I…” Antonio’s voice softened. “I love you too.” He leaned closer and stared at Lovino’s hands, seeming to brace himself. “I love you so much I, I don’t even understand it. Hell, I probably never will,” he said with a sort of breathy laugh. “I can never get enough of you, never, and I’m homesick when you’re not with me, but when you are I’m so, so happy because I know if I can spend the rest of forever with you, I’ll have done something right.” </p><p>Lovino turned red and hid his face in his hands. </p><p>“Too much?” Antonio asked, cheeks hot with blush. Lovino shook his head, not looking up. </p><p>“You’re going to break me, Antonio Fernández Carriedo,” Lovino said, looking up at him with a grin. “Let’s leave this stupid place so you can push me up against a wall and kiss me until you can’t breathe.” Antonio nodded, slapping a handful of <em> pesetas </em> on the table and leading Antonio outside into a pale night. </p><p>The streets were ink and the planes were stars as Antonio kissed Lovino against the back wall of the bar, out of sight of anyone else out on the streets. </p><p>“Did you mean what you said?” Lovino whispered in his ear. </p><p>“And more,” Antonio whispered back. They kissed until their faces were whipped with the fading cold and then they broke apart to walk back to Antonio’s apartment.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Antonio played a low, sad lament to Lovino and Madrid when they were back in his apartment, tucked in his comfortable bedroom by the drafty balcony doors. The music gave Lovino a kind of palpitation of renewed melancholy.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Usually the winter sky was oddly bright from the milky clouds, but tonight it was clear and sharp, freezing, and when Antonio set his guitar down they kissed as if to warm. Lovino held on to Antonio as hard as he could, arms around his shoulders, chest to chest with him. Antonio cradled him just as close, kissing him all over, mumbling praise to him the whole time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino couldn’t get enough of it, and neither could Antonio, this quiet closeness that dripped euphoria. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fell asleep curled against Antonio, never letting go because he knew Antonio would be gone when the sun came up. And even though he knew, he was still bitter when he woke in the empty sheets. Lovino grabbed the duvet and hugged it to himself, holding onto its warmth and softness. He didn’t have to get out of bed. He didn’t have to move. But laying in this empty bed that was too big for him alone wouldn’t make him any happier. He ought to get up and make breakfast, go to the post office to mail his newest chapters to his editor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But not yet. He propped himself up on his side and rubbed his eyes, lighting a cigarette from the case on the bedside table, watching the hazy winter up against the glass. Winter had been hard on the Republicans, but then again, every season was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino finished his cigarette and stubbed it out. He got dressed and went through his normal morning routine, then resumed his spot at Antonio’s desk. He turned the radio on, lit another cigarette. He needed to stop his habit of borderline chain smoking, but the passing days were getting worse and he didn’t know what else to do with himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He called his brother. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hello?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Feliciano asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Feli.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Lovino?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he asked.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “Lovino, where are you? You haven’t been answering our calls, and Emma says you’ve run off to Spain with some girl…”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he trailed off, apparently waiting for Lovino to put those suspicions to rest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I didn’t run off to Spain to be with a girl,” Lovino said. “Emma’s brothers were talking about how Comintern was getting foreign volunteers to help the Republican war effort. I came over to work at the hospital with Antonio, the doctor who helped me get a job when I was living in Spain. I’m safe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feliciano kept quiet.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “When are you coming back to Italy?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, whenever the war’s over,” Lovino said. “How are you?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Alright. We were on holiday and we just got back from Germany,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Feliciano said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Ludwig has a new dog, Berlitz, this fluffy German Shepherd, and I applied early to the art school in Vienna, where Mr. Edelstein works out now.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Feliciano sighed.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “He’s actually here right now with his wife, so I can’t stay on. I’ll tell Papà you called,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Feliciano added. Lovino sighed and closed his eyes, wishing they could have kept talking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. Bye, Feli,” he said, setting the phone down. As miserable as Lovino was beginning to feel, in the end it was his choice to be in Spain. If he became too desperate, he could go back to Florence and none of this would be able to touch him anymore. It would be someone else’s problem. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there was nowhere for Antonio to run to. This was his home, wracked with war and soaked in blood. And Lovino could see how much it was getting to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite all the Republican propaganda and the hopeful edge reporters put on stories from the front, the news on the radio only got worse. Lovino could detach himself from it all, even the Germans’ attack on Guernica that had killed so many civilians. But Antonio went pale when he heard and didn’t stop making phone calls for nearly a day after the attack, but Lovino didn’t know who he was talking to because he spoke to them in Basque.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By August, Madrid’s morale was cripplingly low; Bilbao had fallen to Nationalist bombing and Barcelona was starting to weaken. Lovino forgot when one day ended and the next began. He wanted a cigarette but he had run out in spring and developed a habit of biting his nails to compensate, leaving them weathered to the quick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, he needed a cigarette. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A cigarette or Antonio. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio needed him too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The days drained him of all his energy, all his emotion, and he could hardly force himself to eat whatever Lovino had made from what he’d scrounged from ration cards. Some nights Lovino had to remind him to shower because he hadn’t in several days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino started waking up with Antonio still there beside him, dangerously near to being late for work. But he didn’t seem to care about being on time. Lovino started to worry he didn’t care about anything at all anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio needed a distraction, something that would take him out of reality at least for a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After dinner, Lovino dragged him to the door. “Come on,” he said. Antonio raised his eyebrows. “Let’s go to the bullring,” he said. Antonio squinted. “Where, where you took me in the summer,” he said. “You haven’t been in nearly two years. I thought you missed it.” Antonio’s expression softened, he smiled. He almost looked like himself again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do,” Antonio said softly as they started downstairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remembered walking by here the summer before the war,” Lovino started as they passed the line of shops by the printing place he had worked. “There was this green </span>
  <em>
    <span>trajes de luces</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the window and I started thinking about how hot you’d look in it, especially those pants.” Antonio laughed. He hadn’t laughed in months, not that much anyway. Lovino grinned at him. “It’s not my fault you have such a shapely ass.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good lord, Lovino.” Antonio shook his head. “I shouldn’t laugh. It takes a lot of bravery to be a</span>
  <em>
    <span> torero</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or a death wish,” Lovino cut in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One of my cousins is a matador,” Antonio said, sounding pensive. “I was there for all his </span>
  <em>
    <span>capeas</span>
  </em>
  <span> and even when he went out to train in my uncle’s pasture. He always wanted us to watch, so of course I was there for the matches. He’s been in the ring twice and it scared the shit out of me both times; I really thought he was going to die. He almost has, but…” he shook his head. “I didn’t understand dreams of grandeur until I sat down and had a conversation with him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bullring was a far different scene than the one Lovino had been greeted with when Antonio had brought him in the summer. The crowd was slight and most of them sat on the seats, smoking and talking in hushed voices. But despite the atmosphere of war, the gunmetal smoke and the salt of blood on the paving stones, there was still music. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio brought him into the centre of the ring, and as Lovino watched him dance, he realized that as infatuated with this man as he was, he was still in freefall. In that moment he felt frightened, overwhelmed, of how much he loved Antonio. But there was more to it than fear, a sort of respect for the beauty of loving someone so much there was nothing he could do about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing was quite as satisfying as Antonio, and if nothing else in the ever-changing, too-complicated world made sense, it was that Lovino loved Antonio and Antonio loved him too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They collapsed in the seats near midnight, red-faced and panting. Lovino’s old wounds were starting to hurt and his shoulder was getting stiff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you ever danced the tango?” Antonio asked abruptly. Lovino shook his head. “A couple from Buenos Aires used to come here all the time. They taught us on this late August night, it must’ve been past midnight...” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio’s eyes were ringed with summertime nostalgia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was one of the best nights of my life,” he finished. “Let me teach you.” He hopped down from the benches and beckoned Lovino after him. Lovino jumped down and followed him to the street behind the ring where they could still hear the music. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not hard,” Antonio promised. Lovino glanced sideways and quirked an eyebrow. “Trust me!” Antonio insisted, taking Lovino’s hands and placing them on himself. “I’ll lead, since you have no idea what you’re doing.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harsh,” Lovino said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And true,” Antonio countered with his twinkling smile. “For now, I’ll step forward and you step back. Stay close like you’re trying to step on me but don’t, these are new shoes.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve had those at least three years,” Lovino said with a pronounced scoff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Five. And yeah, that’s new for me, Lovino,” Antonio said. “Shoe shopping doesn’t agree with me.” Lovino looked half-offended but Antonio was starting to dance so Lovino let it go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He adjusted easily to the slow, practiced rhythm Antonio stepped to, back and forth and then sideways over the cobblestones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re quick,” Antonio was already a little breathless as he dipped Lovino towards the ground. Lovino’s hand tightened in Antonio’s and he gripped Antonio’s jacket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got you,” Antonio said with a smile, a loose bit of his hair falling in front of his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Lovino whispered, letting go of Antonio’s shoulder to push his hair back. Antonio kissed the inside of his forearm, then pulled him upright. Lovino stole a kiss against the side of Antonio’s temple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Antonio bored of the step sequence, he extended his arm and swung Lovino towards the opposite sidewalk. Lovino let out a sharp, shocked yelp, but then caught himself and laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Antonio was pulling him in and Lovino spilled against his chest, feeling the rapid clatter of his heartbeat beneath his own ribs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antonio righted him, hand flush against his lower back as he dipped him again. Lovino held tighter to Antonio’s shoulder, curling his leg against his hip and meeting his eyes with a playful grin. Antonio brought him upright again and spun Lovino away one last time, before curling him up close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fumbled with alternating circular steps and more spinning until Lovino was dizzy and holding onto Antonio’s shoulders, his cheeks red with spent energy. Antonio lifted him up then and Lovino gave a shout of laughter, locking his arms around Antonio’s neck and falling into his kiss. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Antonio’s shift started an hour late on Saturdays, so he spent the morning in his office, filing paperwork with the radio turned down low. Normally Lovino didn’t bother him, but this morning he wandered into the room, pretending to read the spines on the bookshelf by his desk. Then he put a hand on Antonio’s shoulder and faked interest in the paper he was writing on.</p><p>Antonio looked up at him and smiled. “What are you doing?” </p><p>“I wanted to ask you something,” Lovino said, perching on the edge of his desk. “I’m bored out of my mind and I feel like I should be more useful. I was wondering if you might be able to give me some kind of first aid training so I can work around the hospital?” Lovino asked. Antonio bit the inside of his cheek. </p><p>“Well, I can’t do anything, but Marienne should be able to. I’ll ask her tomorrow, but I can’t guarantee she’ll have time,” Antonio said, earning only a grimace from Lovino. “I know you don’t like her, but you can get along.” </p><p>“I cannot.” </p><p>“You’re so difficult,” Antonio griped. Lovino leapt off the desk and perched on Antonio’s lap. </p><p>“Not always,” he said, chucking Antonio under the chin. Antonio sighed. “I promise I’m very agreeable when I want to be,” Lovino muttered, moving his hips in lazy circles  with a pleasant smile. Antonio sighed and set his papers down. </p><p>“Now isn’t the time to be horny,” he said, sucking in his breath as Lovino pressed down harder against him. Antonio held on to Lovino's hips to still him. “Wait until tonight, when I get home.” Lovino nodded and kissed Antonio’s neck, dragging his tongue up the side to his jaw. </p><p>“See you then, Antonio.” </p><p>
  <b>_____________</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Antonio found Lovino on the balcony that evening. He was sitting in one of Antonio’s white button-up shirts and his boxers, writing on a notepad propped on his thigh. </p><p>“It’s my artistic process, Antonio,” Lovino said without looking up. His hair was still a little wet and it smelled like soap; he had just showered. “What did Marienne say?”  </p><p>“She agreed,” Antonio replied. “You’ll have to come in to work with me tomorrow.” </p><p>“Great,” Lovino said, swinging himself off the chair and dropping his notebook and pencil on Antonio’s bedside table. He drew the glass doors shut and then the curtains, finally crossing the room and took Antonio’s warm, gentle hands. “Let’s tango.” </p><p>Antonio put a hand on Lovino’s lower back, splaying his fingers out, and laced the fingers of his free hand with Lovino’s. </p><p>“I want to lead,” Lovino added. </p><p>“I’ll prepare for a mess,” Antonio said. </p><p>“Don’t be a sarcastic ass. That’s my job,” Lovino snapped, but he was smiling. Antonio hummed them a melody to dance to and Lovino moved back and forth across the wooden floors that creaked under their feet. Lovino pivoted so Antonio was facing the curtain-blurred, extinguished city lights behind them that would have been explosive on any other summer night. There would be music from the restaurants and tourists trudging to their hotels to lie on their beds with their shirts open, praying for some relief from a thrown-open window. </p><p>Lovino dipped Antonio but stumbled, and Antonio had to catch himself on the floor. Lovino turned red as Antonio pushed himself upright. </p><p>“That was hot,” Lovino said. </p><p>“I should hope so,” Antonio laughed. “Don't drop me next time,” he added, locking his arms around Lovino’s shoulders. “You’re so cute when you blush, you know that?” Antonio mused as Lovino twirled him.</p><p>“You’ve only told me two hundred times,” Lovino said. </p><p>“Well, I promise to have that number up by the end of the month,” Antonio said, adjusting his fingers in Lovino’s and leaning in to kiss him before they continued their progression over the stiff floors. Lovino spun Antonio out and brought him in, and when he did Antonio whispered, “Lovi, spin me.” </p><p>Lovino obliged, twirling him twice before he was giggling and had to clutch onto Lovino’s shoulders to stay upright. He grasped Lovino's waist and lifted him up off his toes for a split second, pivoting and setting him down. Antonio laughed his low, clear laugh that was Lovino’s favorite sound, and they danced in the darkness until Antonio was too out of breath to sing. </p><p>Lovino went to dip him one last time and Antonio rested his leg on Lovino’s side, flinging his arm back like Lovino had done on the street the night before, nearly touching the ground. Lovino pulled Antonio towards himself, kissing his neck, running a hand down Antonio’s thigh and sliding it into the gap behind his knee. </p><p>Then Antonio had pushed him up against the wall and Lovino dug his fingers into Antonio’s hair and tugged him closer, burning for Antonio’s hands all over him until he couldn’t think, until he was just a beating heart and absolutely nothing else. Antonio unbuttoned Lovino’s shirt and splayed his hands out to touch as much of Lovino as he could, stopping at his waist where he traced an idle map of the city he loved so much. </p><p>Antonio slid his shirt down his elbows, pressing his lips to the ends of his collarbones. Antonio touched him like he was something lovely and delicate, golden filigree or teardrop diamonds a glitter against someone’s throat.</p><p>Lovino’s hands crawled to the nape of Antonio’s neck and pulled him closer. “You don’t have to hold back,” he said softly. Antonio laid his forehead against his neck and shoulder, and Lovino realized he was laughing. </p><p> “I’m not,” he grinned. “I’m trying to tease you because I love it when you get all needy and pull my hair and start whining.”</p><p>“Bastard,” Lovino hissed. </p><p>“Beg for me then, if you want me so bad,” Antonio murmured, voice low in his throat. Lovino stared at Antonio’s delicate smirk. </p><p>“Please, Tonio,” Lovino pleaded. Lovino dug his nails into Antonio’s hip bones, into that sensitive spot that made him flinch. “Please, please, Tonio, I want you, I want you so badly, please…” Lovino whined, his breath rasping at the outer edge of Antonio’s ear. He braced himself on the wall and wrapped a leg around Antonio’s waist. </p><p>Antonio ran his palms down the underside of Lovino’s thighs and lifted him up, and Lovino wrapped his legs around Antonio’s waist. </p><p>“Can you hold me up?” Lovino asked. </p><p>“I’m strong,” Antonio said, holding tight to him. Lovino smiled and tipped his head back to let Antonio suck at his clavicle.  Lovino petted Antonio’s head as his breath stuttered, and he hid his face against Lovino’s neck. His calves were shaking and his arms were too. </p><p>“Fuck, I love you, Lovino, I love you…” he breathed. “I love you,” Antonio said, staring up at Lovino. “You know that, don’t you?”  </p><p>“Tell me again,” Lovino said. He was dizzy. Antonio did, and he kept on saying it in varying degrees of coherency until Lovino came and grabbed onto Antonio’s shoulders hard, slumping against his torso. Antonio fell to his knees on the floor, taking Lovino with him. </p><p>They collapsed on the hardwood floors, both sore and breathing hard. The inside of Antonio’s thighs were wet with Lovino’s cum. </p><p>“Holy shit,” Lovino gasped. “Holy<em> shit</em>,” he repeated, still panting. </p><p>“Glad I did a good job,” Antonio said, nuzzling Lovino’s cheek. Lovino laughed and shoved his chest, kissing him under the chin. “I should fuck you senseless more often. It makes you very affectionate,” Antonio said. </p><p>“I’m not sure that was senseless. Luckily, there’s always an opportunity to improve,” Lovino said. When they’d caught their breath, they climbed into, and Antonio drew the blanket over them both, tucking in the edges around Lovino’s shoulder. “My back hurts,” Lovino muttered.  </p><p>“Lay on your side.” Lovino rolled over. Antonio pressed his thumbs to his back. “There?”  </p><p>“You don’t have to do this,” Lovino said, looking over at Antonio. “I’m okay.” </p><p>“I want to,” Antonio insisted, giving him a quick kiss on the shoulder and continuing to massage his back. </p><p>“Up higher,” Lovino said. Antonio obliged. “Yeah, there,” Lovino muttered. “Thank you, Antonio,” Lovino whispered, covering his face with his hands. Antonio felt him twitch, and then Lovino turned onto his side and hugged Antonio to him. “I don’t know what to do.”  </p><p>“What?” Antonio said.  </p><p>“I… I love you so much and I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t believe I got so lucky.”</p><p>“It wasn’t luck,” Antonio said, stroking his arm.</p><p>“What was it then? Pheromones?” </p><p>“Ew, who’s getting medical now?” Antonio asked. Lovino chuckled a little and reached up to drag his fingers through Antonio’s hair. Antonio closed his eyes. </p><p>“Go to sleep, Antonio. You deserve it. Me and my broken spine will be alright,” Lovino said. Antonio smiled and then curled up against Lovino’s chest, closing his eyes and hoping the moon would never set.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I swear this is the last interlude of debauchery and the next chapters will return to the regularly scheduled civil war</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lovino woke up to Antonio playing with his hair. “We have to get up, Lovi,” Antonio whispered. Lovino sighed and hugged Antonio around the waist, snuggling close to his stomach. </p><p>“Must we?” </p><p>“Yes. We’ve got work,” Antonio said. </p><p>They got dressed and opened the curtains to let the sun in, then ate breakfast that Antonio threw together and turned on the radio. </p><p>His mind kept drifting back to Antonio as Marienne drilled him on first aid and basic anatomy. After all, when he was too focused, they argued. She was about to go get Lucille to take over for her when they both heard the distant wail of air raid sirens starting. </p><p>“Bombs,” Lovino said. </p><p>There was a flurry of voices in the hall. Marienne and Lovino rushed out into the thickening crowd of nurses and doctors running into rooms or guiding stumbling men down the hallway. Matthieu was downstairs, standing in the foyer and supervising the current of people, helping others down towards the hospital’s basement. Lovino found Antonio with a group of staff and ran over to him, joining the queue of clinic staff and limping soldiers hurrying down the stairs. </p><p>The walls were stained with artificial white lights and with everyone packed tight to one another it smelled of a revolting mix of blood and stale sweat and antiseptic. </p><p>Antonio took Lovino’s hand as discreetly as he could and clutched it hard, wincing as a dull crump sounded over their heads. A few people covered their ears, others curled over into a fetal position, clutching their knees. A few men who had been at the front were screaming. It made Lovino’s stomach turn and he squeezed Antonio’s hand back, looking up at the ceiling.</p><p>It was hot downstairs, and as the minutes ticked on, the scent of sweat worsened. </p><p>He thought he could hear the distant hum of the planes perusing the sky. The explosions were muted at first, but then they got closer and louder, and more people started to cry. A woman who had just delivered her baby was yelling about going back upstairs while a nurse tried to comfort her, promising that the staff was getting the babies in the maternity ward somewhere safe. </p><p>Strangers clutched onto each other, others sat alone, holding clasped hands to their lips and murmuring into them. </p><p>An ensemble of shouts and screams broke out when a thunderous sound of cracking cement and exploding glass came from above them. Lovino forgot discretion. He forgot everything. He grabbed Antonio and held him, a hand on his head, trying to protect him from something he was powerless to. Antonio closed his eyes and hid against Lovino’s chest, his heart beating in his throat so hard that he felt like he was going to be sick with fear. </p><p>Another crash, the force of it making the whole room draw a collective shiver. Lovino grabbed tighter to Antonio and hid his face in his hair. He could feel Antonio’s heartbeat slamming against his sternum and pinched his eyes shut so hard it hurt. This would pass. It would pass. </p><p>And eventually, it did.</p><p>A cold quiet gradually descended. People kept on sobbing, the woman was still begging for her baby. But the silence outside dragged on, and after an hour people began to stand up. Lovino released Antonio, shocked when he saw there were tears on Antonio’s cheeks. </p><p>“Antonio—” he started, reaching for his arm. Antonio was shaking and had to catch himself on the wall. Lovino helped him to his feet. </p><p>“I’m alright,” Antonio said. He drew a staccato inhale and bustled forward, reconvening with Gilbert and a cluster of the staff. Lovino lingered on the fringes of the huddle, listening to their talk about what to do in the event of more bombs, if they should change locations and how the critical patients would go to the other location. </p><p>Lovino noticed Marienne getting her feet in the corner. She put a hand on a woman’s back and directed her towards another nurse, then slipped past Lovino towards the stairs. Lovino glanced at Antonio, still deep in discussion. </p><p>He followed Marienne upstairs, intent on getting some water to calm himself down. Her wine-dark heels clicked on the steps and drowned out the rustle of Lovino’s own footfalls as he followed her. She walked up to the main floor and into the reception room, approaching the phone. Lovino waited just beyond the door to ask her about the water, but stilled when he heard a name that gave him pause. </p><p><em> João</em>. The fascist soldier in downtown Madrid with that uncanny resemblance to Antonio, the one who had given the nod to let Lovino be killed. </p><p>Lovino’s heart started beating harder. He tried to find some comfort in the fact that João was a very common Portuguese name, so this João could be a completely different one. But if it <em> was </em>the same one, why was Marienne talking to him? </p><p>“Why didn’t you—” she let out an annoyed sound. “Fine, but be quick about it,” she said, putting the receiver down. Lovino ducked out of sight as she left the room and after a moment’s deliberation, followed her. </p><p>When they got outside, Marienne lit a cigarette and smoked, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk and watching the smoldering world around her. After a bit, she finished her cigarette, then leaned against the side of the building, tapping her foot. Lovino started wondering if he should go back inside when something moved beneath one of the streetlamps across from them.</p><p>“João.” Marienne sounded stoic. The man under the extinguished streetlamp crossed over to her. “Why the hell didn’t you warn me about this?” she asked. João glared at her, coming close enough Lovino could see his face. </p><p>His heart sank. </p><p>It was him. </p><p>“I couldn’t get away, or call you. It wasn’t safe,” he said.  Lovino recognized his voice clear as anything. He would never forget it, would never forget any detail of that man’s face, because he had thought it would be the last one he would ever see. </p><p>“Fine, but we shouldn’t talk here. Let’s go to the café tomorrow,” Marienne muttered. </p><p>“Do you want me to bring Arthur?” João asked. Marienne laughed under her breath. </p><p>“Oh, <em> cheri</em>, you know he’ll be there whether you invite him or not. What can I say? He can’t keep away from me,” she said, playfully brushing her hair behind her ear. Lovino thought he saw João frown. “Normal time,” she added, and João slunk into the thin shadows of the empty lights. </p><p>Marienne stood still on the spot until João’s footsteps went silent, then turned and went back inside. Lovino left the dim street and went in after her to the foyer of the hospital, where the others had begun to emerge from the basement. </p><p>The café. Normal time. There were twelve hours in the day and at least twenty cafés in walking distance Marienne could be meeting this João at. But <em> why </em> ? <em> Why </em>was she meeting him? He was probably an informer, that was it, Lovino told himself. </p><p>Lovino shot a look at Marienne. She was laughing beside a group of nurses, untroubled. She noticed Lovino looking at her and paused, shooting him a smile and a bright wink. </p><p>
  <b>_____________</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Lovino took it upon himself to investigate Marienne as discreetly as possible in the following few weeks. He lacked experience sneaking around in someone’s affairs and wasn’t quite sure how to go about it at first, but as it happened, Marienne was a great role model for more than just medicine. He learned a lot about how to get into someone’s business from her. </p><p>But soon he lost his chance, as she started tossing him around to various doctors who needed someone on hand for tasks that would be a waste to designate a nurse to. </p><p>Today he was sitting at Antonio’s side, watching him pick shrapnel from a soldier’s arm. The sight of his arm, the ripped skin, the torn muscle, it still made Lovino feel like he was recovering from a bad bout of vomiting. Lovino heard the soft clatter of it on the metal tray beside them, piled with bits of metal on top of bloody pieces of gauze. </p><p>Lovino wiped sweat off his nape. It was early September, and the lingering heat from August still choked the hallways, every room. It worsened the smell of sweat and war, which Lovino had felt he should have gotten used to by now, but it still gave him a vague feeling of nausea. There was hardly a time when he was in the hospital that he didn’t feel at least a little sick. </p><p>“You were right,” Lovino murmured. Antonio made a <em> hmm?  </em>sound, not looking up. “About fighting a losing war, and how it takes a toll on you, knowing all your effort is for nothing.” </p><p>Antonio dropped more shrapnel on the tray and looked up, and Lovino flinched at the anger on his face.</p><p>“It’s not for nothing,” he snapped. “We’re saving people’s lives.” </p><p>“So they can be sent back to the front and get shot to death. Why doesn’t the Republic surrender? You said it yourself, you’re not going to win.” </p><p>He had never regretted saying something so quickly in his life. </p><p>Antonio turned back to the wounded soldier and was quiet for a few moments, and when he spoke his voice was cracked and softer than Lovino had ever heard it. </p><p>“This is our home, Lovino,” he said. “For me, for lots of us, it’s all we’ve ever known. We just want things to go back to the way they used to be.” He took a steadying breath and dropped more shrapnel on the tray. “Before you write this off as a worthless cause, think about our lives instead of your own.” </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Lovino murmured, still staring at the floor, his face stubbornly hot with shame. Antonio didn’t look at him.</p><p>“Go get one of the nurses.” Lovino nodded and got to his feet. “And find Marienne. Ask her if anyone else needs help, I think you’ve done plenty today.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They rode the tram home together, but didn’t speak. Antonio left as soon as they got to his apartment, leaving Lovino alone and feeling worse than he had in a long, long time. He slumped on the couch with his face in his hands for a while, waiting for Antonio to come back. But by midnight, Lovino decided he should go to bed, as Antonio probably didn’t want to see him anyway. </p><p>The first thing he did when he woke up was turn over. The sheets were empty, but they were rumpled like someone had slept on them, and he could smell coffee and hear the news on the radio from the kitchen. </p><p>He found Antonio nibbling a measly breakfast of dried toast from the bread that had been dehydrating in the back cupboard for weeks now.  </p><p>“Antonio, I’m sorry,” Lovino said. He was surprised by the waver in his tired voice. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was awful, and I wasn’t thinking, and I… Just…” he inhaled shakily. “Please don’t be mad at me.” </p><p>Antonio set his toast down and looked up. “I’m not, anymore,” he promised. “I… We have different opinions, and that’s fine.” </p><p>Lovino shook his head and sat down across from him. </p><p>“You’re being complacent. Be honest with me,” he said. </p><p>“Alright, it hurt me a little, hearing you say that what I do is pointless. It means a lot to me, and I… I don’t know, it’s disappointing knowing it doesn’t mean as much to you. But I’m not mad at you, I promise.” </p><p>“Everyone knows disappointment is worse than anger,” Lovino said. “I’m sorry. I was being a real ass, but let’s face it, it’s not the first time. And I don’t think this is worthless, you know that. You help people, you <em> save people’s lives </em>, and you’re damn good at it. I’m so sorry,” he repeated.</p><p>“Thank you,” Antonio said, smiling. “And I forgive you. I don’t want to fight.” </p><p>“I don’t want to fight either,” Lovino said, reaching to take Antonio’s hand across the table, stroking his thumb back and forth against his knuckles. “Are you okay?” </p><p>Antonio shook his head. “I’m tired,” he admitted. “I don’t get a break until October, and I don’t know if I can make it until then.” He ran his hands over his face, then took Lovino’s hand again and squeezed it. “We should go out then. It’ll give me something to look forward to.” </p><p>Lovino nodded. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>_____________</b>
</p><p> </p><p>October was cooler than September, a residual warmth in the air that smelled like woodsmoke and cinnamon and the leaves beginning to fall and rasp along the sidewalk. Lovino could almost forget the bombs as he walked alongside Antonio down the block towards a small, quiet café that sold water and “coffee” that they had made by replacing the grounds with burned sawdust. They bought tea instead, which was watery and disappointing, but neither of them were strangers to disappointment anymore. </p><p>They sat at a table in the corner, pretending to enjoy sipping their watery tea. It was one of the nicer places and attracted a number of embassy workers and journalists who had traveled to Spain during the war. Antonio made a game out of pointing people out and Lovino would create a long, tragic tale about their life up until the point that they sat here, sipping sawdust coffee. </p><p>“You try,” Lovino said with a grin, and he scanned the tables for a victim. His hand tightened on the handle of his teacup. </p><p>There was João, sitting near the bar in a tailored suit. His face was clean-shaven and he looked altogether like any of the other government agents there. </p><p>Antonio noticed the shift in Lovino’s expression and his eyes flicked towards where João sat. </p><p>“What is it?” he asked. </p><p>“That… that man over there looks a lot like you,” Lovino said, trying to sound conversational. Antonio looked over, and he winced. </p><p>“That’s my brother, João.” </p><p>Lovino tried very hard not to look shocked. He forced a shrug. “Oh,” he said. </p><p>“We, uh, don’t get along.” Antonio sipped at his tea, glancing at his brother. “And we really don’t look anything alike.” Lovino didn’t argue, but he didn’t think he had ever seen two people who looked so similar it made his skin crawl. Or maybe João made his skin crawl because of the death-sentencing debacle. </p><p>“He lives in Lisbon now, working at the Spanish embassy. I haven’t seen him back here in a while. In fact, I can’t believe he’s showing his face around here, I was sure he would stay nice and safe in Portugal,” Antonio sneered. Lovino had never seen Antonio sneer before. He did not like it. </p><p>João looked up then and saw Antonio. He smiled and got to his feet, heading over to their table. </p><p>“Oh God,” Antonio groaned, shrinking down into the faux safety of his seat. </p><p>“Antonio!” João said. He pulled up a chair from the empty table beside them and sat down. “How are you?”  </p><p>“As well as I can be,” Antonio said. João nodded, fixing his eyes on Lovino. </p><p>It was then Lovino realized how shocking this must be for João, who had come over to speak with his brother and been greeted with an assumed dead man from several years ago. He may as well have seen a ghost, and he looked like it for a split second. He opened his mouth to speak, before realizing one couldn’t exactly ask, <em> I might be confusing you with someone else, but didn’t I try to kill you a while back?  </em></p><p>Antonio must have assumed the sudden awkwardness was due to Lovino’s inability to socialize, not his apparent proficiency at cheating death, and introduced him.  </p><p>“That’s Lovino Vargas. He works at the hospital with me. An International volunteer from Italy.” João nodded, and Lovino could see him piecing a story together in his head. “Why did you come back to Spain?” Antonio asked. Lovino was wondering the same thing. João finally took his eyes off him. </p><p>“There’s a group in Portugal that wants to provide some aid to the Republicans and I’ve come to discuss some terms with your diplomats. I saw how badly you needed the help,” he said. He seemed sincere, but Lovino was still uneasy. Of course it was possible he was a double agent, Lovino had considered that several times before, but that still didn’t tell him which side João was truly loyal to. </p><p>“I’m not sure how much longer the Republicans will hold themselves together, though. I heard that Caballero is trying to take over,” he went on. </p><p>“It seems like it,” Antonio said. “I hope we don’t have infighting.” </p><p>“I think that might be the direction you’re headed,” João said. Lovino stared down at his watery grey tea and Antonio clutched at his cup. The Republican army was disorganized as it was. He doubted it could handle any kind of division within itself. </p><p>“I’ve got to meet someone,” João went on. “It was good to see you, Antonio.” </p><p>Antonio gave him a quick, tense smile and João got to his feet to wander back over to his table. Lovino watched him drop a few <em> pesetas </em> on it and then go back to the door. He wondered if that “someone” João was going to meet was Marienne or Arthur or both. </p><p>“What are you thinking about?” Antonio asked. Lovino looked up.</p><p>“Nothing,” he said. Antonio raised his eyebrows, but didn’t push him. </p><p>They paid and then trudged back to the hospital. Lovino watched everyone’s tired faces pass, pale, pained, bruised with exhaustion. An air of defeat lay thick over the city despite all the ferocity of Madrid's citizens. </p><p>In an attempt to raise people’s spirits, Marienne threw a Christmas party together with Lucille when December came. She shared the wine and champagne Arthur sent her, even scaring up some chocolate. Gilbert tried his hand at baking, the result of which was a black brick that might have been a stollen, but no one was brave enough to cut into it and find out. Antonio poked at it with a pinkie just as Lovino put a hand on his shoulder. </p><p>He yelped and turned around. </p><p>“Hey,” Lovino said, shifting his weight. Antonio didn’t remember ever seeing Lovino do that. </p><p>“Why are you acting weird?” </p><p>“I’m not. Let’s go onto the roof,” he said. Antonio hesitated for a moment, then followed him upstairs. The roof wasn’t a terrific place to be given the recent raids, but so far the Luftwaffe hadn’t attempted a night bombing. </p><p>“I’m sad about what this city’s become. It used to be so beautiful,” Lovino said. He put his hands in his pockets and looked up towards the empty sky, the wind pulling his hair around his face. </p><p>“I’m glad you think so. It was really important to me that you like it here, I don’t know why,” Antonio added with a sheepish half-laugh. </p><p>“Because you love it,” Lovino said simply. “You always want to show you the things I love, or that make you happy, because you want me to be happy to,” Lovino said. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t give back enough.” He glanced back out over the dark city, out to that thick line on the horizon that was the sea. </p><p>“So I want to. I want to share my whole life with you, Antonio.” </p><p>Lovino turned to him and sank down onto his knee.  </p><p>“Will you marry me, Antonio Fernández Carriedo?” Antonio stared at him and his cheeks went rose in the silvery light. Then he fell to his knees and hugged Lovino around the waist, nodding.</p><p>“Yes, yes, I’ll marry you!” he said, taking Lovino’s face in his hands and kissing all over his forehead, his cheeks, even his closed eyes. Lovino laughed and got to his feet, pulling Antonio along with him. Antonio grabbed his waist and spun him around, taking Lovino so by surprise that he let out an odd squeaking noise and stumbled when Antonio set him back down. </p><p>“I’m sorry I don’t have a ring. I was worried if I got you one, people would ask questions…” he started, but Antonio waved it off. “Also I know this isn’t a terribly romantic spot, but… you love Madrid so much. I wanted you to have at least one more good memory here, despite everything,” Lovino said. Antonio smiled and kissed him on the cheek.</p><p>“Thank you,” he said. He kissed him again, on the mouth this time, and Lovino held onto his hips. He was so dizzy with elation he needed to grip something to stay upright in the city that rushed on around them, not bothering to pause, not that they needed it to. </p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They tripped up the stairs of Antonio’s apartment. Antonio kissed him against the door, shoving his coat off without letting his mouth leave Lovino’s. This was another one of those things Lovino told himself he would never have, this stumbling backwards while someone’s hands were all over him, their mouth on his, because they wanted him so very, very much. </p><p>“Was that senseless?” Antonio asked as Lovino turned to face him in the dark room, panting and leaning on his arm. Antonio reached out to brushed Lovino’s hair off his forehead, tracing his finger down the side of his temple.</p><p>“Not quite.” Lovino grinned at Antonio’s frustrated expression. “You’re too gentle.” He curled one side of his mouth up into a small smirk. “Pull my hair. Dig your nails in my back. Choke me. Make me hurt. Make me beg for you for longer than two seconds.” Antonio glanced at the sheets, the red on his face obvious even in the dark. </p><p>“I don’t like hurting you,” he muttered. </p><p>“You don’t like hurting anything, do you?” Lovino murmured. “Instincts of a healer and whatnot?” Antonio rolled his eyes. Lovino rearranged the blanket over Antonio’s arm and smoothed it. “You know, our last name is going to be <em> obnoxious</em>. Fernández-Carriedo-Vargas does not roll off the tongue <em> at all</em>. Either we pick one your last names or you take mine.” Antonio laughed and buried his face into Lovino’s chest, so drowned in affection for him he didn’t know what else to do. </p><p>Lovino shook his shoulder lightly, and Antonio looked up. Lovino’s eyes were bright. “Look. It’s snowing,” he said, pointing towards the shuttered balcony doors. “First time this year,” he mused. “Merry Christmas, Antonito.” He kissed Antonio on the forehead, turning to roll over, before Antonio collapsed on top of him, hugging him close to his chest. </p><p>“<em>Antonito,</em> so cute. You’re so cute, Lovi, I can’t stand it…” Lovino groaned. </p><p>“You’re <em> gross</em>, let me go…” he started, laughing as Antonio smothered him with kisses. Lovino finally gave up, hanging his arms around Antonio’s neck and kissing him back. </p><p>In the harrowing months that followed, that night was all he thought about, that shining memory of how beautiful life could be when all he saw was slowly crumbling hope and blood, so much blood. </p><p>Winter left the Republic crippled, frostbitten. Bloody. The hope for spring the citizens of Madrid held onto was all for nothing; things did not improve with the warmer weather. In May they were given the order to surrender, but still the Republic refused. A sense of desperation sank down on Madrid, settling in the side streets and between buildings. It felt like waiting, waiting for and end. </p><p>Things reached their crescendo in July, when the Battle of Ebro broke out miles away at the coast. Lovino, Marienne, Antonio, and Gilbert joined the hordes huddled around the radio, listening to each day’s report of the battle. Other workers and patients joined them in the late evenings dripping into night, pressing clasped palms to their lips and praying like they had when the bombs came. </p><p>The battle was brutal for the Republic. Their soldiers couldn’t dig trenches to get shelter from the bombs and shells, and there was no time for doctors on the front lines to get the wounded away. Like the citizens of Madrid, the Republican soldiers fought hard, but willpower wasn’t enough against Franco’s artillery and manpower. The bombs fell and fell without pause throughout the burning August days that dropped like the cold sweat on the back of Lovino’s neck.</p><p>The Nationalist success at Ebro egged on the Nationalists circling Madrid even more, and the fronts crept closer and closer. The walls were closing in and the Republic couldn’t hold them back anymore, were being crushed by them. </p><p>It would never be enough. Not for Antonio, not for Madrid, not for Spain. There was no strength left in anyone anymore. There was nothing the Republic could do but watch its hope dry up and their cause beaten black and blue. </p><p>Lovino could only take so much. He stopped hanging around the radio, leaving him often standing stranded in the hallway, lost, confused, helpless. Today he had wandered outside to watch the hazy sky, dreaming of home and clear silver-pepper stars. </p><p>Marienne was on a break and he didn’t really have anything to do, so he went to the café down the street, the one where the diplomats and government officials went. The place had a comforting smell of conditioned leather and cigarettes, costly cologne lingering on lapels, perfume on the inside of wrists. He had just sat down when the door swung again and Marienne herself walked in, wearing a thin peacoat despite the warmth of the day. </p><p>A vaguely familiar man at the table a meter from Lovino gestured to her. </p><p>“Arthur,” she murmured, kissing him on the cheeks. He took her coat off for her, revealing a dull gold dress. She had fixed her lipstick since she had left her shift. He winced at the sight of João approaching the table with three cups of coffee, which he set down and sat without greeting Marienne. </p><p>Lovino inched his chair closer to them, picking up a menu and giving it a hard stare so that Marienne wouldn’t notice him. He could pick out her voice through the dull chatter, saying, “Why haven’t you gone home?” He wasn’t sure who she was addressing, but he supposed it must have been João, because he answered. </p><p>“Because the Crown doesn’t want me to,” he said. </p><p>“Why? What are you even doing to help us anymore, other than running up the water bills in the embassy?” Marienne snapped. </p><p>“I was told to stay,” João replied, a little more intensity in his voice. “They want me to help Arthur. And I wanted to pass along the message from Portugal about aid for the Republic, though I suppose at this point it’s too late.” Arthur made a scoffing sound. “I know Britain isn’t having it, but… my brother lives here, and if the Republic loses I don’t know what will happen to him.” </p><p>“Right, Antonio,” Marienne said. “I don’t think he’d appreciate your help much. What happened between you two, anyway? What sort of family drama are the Fernández-Carriedos hiding away beneath all that prestigious polish?” </p><p>“Sorry to disappoint you, Marianne, but we just don’t get along. There’s no scandal for you, as much as I know you were hoping for it. Give me a few days, I’ll make up an exciting story.” </p><p>“Can we please focus?” Arthur cut in. “Marienne, it’s true, João’s been asked to stay on and help me with the reports I’ve been sending to England. And it doesn’t matter now, anyway, as I expect they’ll send us a plane soon enough to take us home, as the war’s going to end soon.” Lovino swallowed and inclined his head a little more. “Everyone knows it. The Loyalists is down on all fours, no one expects much. Not even its leaders. Negrín is sending all the foreign volunteers back home.” </p><p>Lovino stared at the wood grain of the table. They must be working for the English government, but for what? What reports were they sending back to Britain? </p><p>“I hope this is all over very soon,” Marienne said. “I, for one, do not want to die in this place.” </p><p>“Sir.” Lovino looked up to see the proprietor leaning over his table. “Are you going to order something?” </p><p>“Y-yes,” he stuttered. “I was thinking.”</p><p>Marienne scooted her chair closer to Arthur and João, and they spoke in low whispers Lovino couldn’t make out. He gave the man another glare and marched up to the counter, clenching the few <em> pesetas </em>in his pocket and resigning himself for sawdust coffee. </p><p>Lovino considered sneaking glances over at the trio, but now that Marienne knew he was there he didn’t want to risk it. Instead he forced himself to drink a nauseating coffee and then he braced himself to go back to the hospital. </p><p>Now not only was he thinking about the whims of the British government but also the mention that Spain was sending the International Brigades home. Now, when it was more dire than ever. Lovino wondered if Antonio knew. </p><p>He found the usual cluster around the radio in the common area when he returned to the hospital, listening with rapt attention. The fight at the Ebro seemed unending, and both sides suffered, though the Republic was far worse off. The reports claimed that the Republican upper command still refused the pleas for retreat and anyone who left the front was shot. </p><p>It seemed like nothing but a waste, and endless, bloody waste. Negrín went through with sending the foreign volunteers home, and by the first week of October they had left the front lines. The Republic was on its own, bleeding red and clawing for a victory they knew they would never have. Exhausted, defeated, the Nationalists won at the Ebro and pushed into Barcelona. </p><p>The fighting in Madrid had gotten even worse. Windows were taped over with X’s so the bombs wouldn’t shatter them. People clutched at ration cards. And all the wounded soldiers, all the blood… It was in Lovino’s nose, all he saw, the tang of it in the air made him bitter of tongue. </p><p>He called Feliciano when it got too terrible, asking him about Vienna and university there. Antonio curled up beside him, pressing his face to Lovino’s side. Lovino put an arm around his shoulders, holding him to his chest and stroking his hair. Antonio snuggled up to his chest, closing his eyes as he finished the call with his brother and put the phone down. Antonio clutched him tighter. </p><p>Lovino wanted to tell him not to worry, or that everything would be okay, but all he could do was hold onto him and thank God his heart was still beating.</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Antonio’s neck was stiff. His shoulder hurt and his arm was asleep from him lying on it all night. He smelled coffee and cigarette smoke. He raised his head and pushed himself up, his thoughts slow and muddled with sleep. Lovino was sitting on the edge of the couch, tapping a cigarette into the ashtray beside which sat two cups of coffee, one nearly empty. </p><p>“Good morning, Antonio,” Lovino murmured. He stubbed out the cigarette and offered him the full cup, but Antonio shook his head and curled against Lovino’s side, pressing his cheek against Lovino’s thigh. “You’ve got to get up, <em> tesoro</em>.” </p><p>Antonio shook his head. “I can’t…” </p><p>“You have to,” Lovino insisted. He got to his feet and lifted Antonio with him. He held onto Lovino’s arms too hard, as though if he let go he couldn’t stand himself. </p><p>“I can’t do it,” Antonio clutched his arms tighter and met Lovino’s eyes. “Please, don’t make me, I can’t do it anymore.” He drew a shuddering inhale and pinched his eyes shut, but they wavered and stung while his throat got sore. </p><p>“Antonio…” Lovino muttered. “You have work.” </p><p>“I can’t do it,” he said again. “I <em> can’t</em>!” Antonio let go of him and dropped to his knees on the floor, covering his face with his hands. He curled his fingers and dug his nails into his forehead, digging them in harder and harder.</p><p> Lovino got down beside him and his heart beat faster, his tongue got bitter. He didn’t know what to do with people who were crying, especially not Antonio; he had always seemed so resolute, so unbreakable, but now he was covered in those tiny, intricate cracks that come before things fall apart. </p><p>“Antonio, Antonio…” Lovino held on to him as hard as he could, but Antonio gave no notice. He clawed at his own face, he wailed, he didn’t listen to anything Lovino said. “It’s okay, it’s okay…” Lovino repeated the same empty words over and over again, but they did nothing, akin to trying to comfort a frightened animal. They didn’t understand a word, no matter how sincere, promising there was no danger. </p><p>“God, that bastard Negrín!” Antonio yelled, his teeth gritted so hard Lovino could see a vein pulsing in his temple. “Why won’t he just surrender the city? <em> Why? </em>How many more people are going to have to die?” </p><p>“You said you didn’t want to give up,” Lovino insisted. “You said you would keep fighting for Spain.” </p><p>“Of course I did, because I’ve always been a goddamn idiot, I can’t see shit for how it is.” Antonio gave a harsh, sarcastic laugh. “We’re not going to win! What was I <em> thinking</em>? You were right. I should have listened to you.” </p><p>“No.” Lovino shook his head, putting a steadying hand on his back. </p><p>“The Republic can’t stand, we-we’re fighting each other in the streets!” he cried. Lovino swallowed, but could offer no rebuttal. The streets were all choked up with barricades, shops and restaurants seized the the communists fighting for Negrín and those who stood beside his rival, Casando Segismundo. The streets were a warzone, and the bodies piled up too fast for the doctors to keep up with, especially with so many of their volunteers gone. There weren’t enough people anymore. Or ammunition, or any drive to keep fighting. </p><p>It was only days later that the Republican front collapsed. The red soldiers were sent home, other threw their guns down and refused to fight, abandoning the field to return home and see their families. </p><p>And then it was over. </p><p>Madrid fell. </p><p>When Antonio heard, he got on the tram and went home, home to Lovino, who was waiting for him the minute he opened the door, arms to fall into. </p><p>“Antonio, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” Lovino murmured into his hair, hugging him as hard as he could. They stayed like that for some time, Lovino holding on to Antonio while the radio dredged on behind them. Lovino sat them down on the couch and Antonio sobbed against his chest, only stopping when they heard pounding on the door. </p><p>Soldiers. Franco’s soldiers, coming for them. Lovino shut his eyes hard and gripped Antonio’s shirt until his fingers were bloodless, clutching onto him as though he were clutching onto life itself, the life that would be lost in seconds when that door opened. </p><p>“Fucking open the door, Antonio!” Lovino raised his head. That was Gilbert’s voice. He let go of Antonio and struggled off the couch, undoing the locks with shaking hands and pulling the door open. Gilbert was standing in the hall, panting, his face sweaty. </p><p>“Lovino? Where’s Antonio?” Lovino pointed to him. “Get him. We’ve got to go. Marienne’s getting us out of the city before things really go to shit.” Lovino stared. “She’s got a plane,” Gilbert added, his voice scattered between panic and anger and desperation. “But we had to leave <em> now </em> before all the fronts fall and the Luftwaffe gets control of the airspace.” </p><p>Lovino was still breathing hard, his heart was still hammering as he tried to piece together Gilbert’s words. Marienne was going to save Antonio’s life, and his, her and her shifty civil servants of the Crown. “Where is she taking us?” </p><p>“I don’t know. She’s getting us away from here, that’s what’s important,” Gilbert insisted. Lovino nodded and tripped over to Antonio.</p><p>“Come on, get up, you heard him,” he urged. </p><p>“Where are we going?” Antonio said, sounding lost.</p><p>“We don’t know, but we have to go or we'll die,” Lovino sounded near hysterics, and Gilbert was yelling at them to hurry. </p><p>“We’re leaving?” </p><p>“Yes, Antonio, we’re leaving,” Lovino said. “Let’s <em> go</em>.” </p><p>“I need to get—” Antonio started.</p><p>“We don’t have time!” Gilbert insisted. Lovino and Gilbert pulled Antonio upright and ran out into the hall and down the stairs. The radio was still on.</p><p>Antonio half-tripped as he kept up with Gilbert, who led them along the sides of apartments all the way to one of the nearby plazas where a small plane reposed amongst rubble left over from the bombings. </p><p>Gilbert bolted up the steps and Lovino followed, pulling Antonio along after him. Marienne, João, and Arthur filled half the seats, all starting when the other three threw themselves down into the unoccupied spots. </p><p>João stared at Antonio, who fell into his seat and put his face in his hands. </p><p>“Antonio,” he reached for Antonio’s shoulder, but Antonio gave no reaction. </p><p>“What’s wrong with him?” he asked, staring at Lovino.</p><p>“He… I think he’s in shock,” Lovino stuttered. Gilbert yanked the plane door shut and fell into the seat beside João. “Where are you taking us?” he added. </p><p>“England. All-expenses paid, courtesy of the British Secret Service,” Marienne said. “We’ve been working to keep an eye on the war for Britain, making sure Spain behaved and we didn’t get another world one started,” she mused, lighting a cigarette. She took a drag and sighed, tucking a loose bit of her hair back behind her ear. </p><p>“They’re sending us home now that it’s all over and England has recognized Franco’s regime. They’re negotiating the terms of surrender now.” Antonio finally moved, shaking his head. “Oh, it’s okay, Tonio,” Marienne murmured. “You’ll be very safe in England.” </p><p>“I can’t go to England. All my money is in <em> pesetas </em> and my job, I’ll have to be recertified to work there, won’t I? My clothes, I’ve got no clothes, and my apartment, what’s going to happen to my apartment?” </p><p>“I’m sorry, Tonio,” Marienne said. For the first time Lovino had heard her speak, he thought she was telling the truth. “We can help you, if you need it. And England is nice. You get used to the rain and sadness after a while.” <br/>“We’ll figure it out when we get to England,” Lovino murmured into his ear. Antonio didn’t respond. He wondered if any of them really understood the depth of what he had just lost. Unlike Marienne and Lovino, there was no home for him to return to, no house with a red-tiled roof by the sea, nor a sunny apartment with a little lemon tree. </p><p>Anything he had left was sinking smaller and smaller beneath them, blurring from a smoking city into a system of blackened, burned up veins. </p><p>
  <b>_____________</b>
</p><p> </p><p>They arrived in London on a groggy grey morning when it was drizzling but not quite raining. Arthur got them rooms in a nice hotel near London’s downtown, but Lovino couldn’t stand to sit still. He certainly couldn’t content himself with laying around in a sickly-sweet smelling suite, so he got up and went to Antonio’s room. They ended up wandering around the streets of London, filtering onto Blackfriars Bridge and watching the Thames rustle underneath them. It reminded Lovino of the Tiber cutting through Rome, and he felt an unexpected wave of crippling homesickness. </p><p>How long had it been since he had been home in Italy? Several years, at least. Feliciano would be graduating soon. His little brother, graduating university. </p><p>Antonio leaned on the bridge and stared down into the Thames, hair tossed around his face by the bitter wind, flecked with icy rain. He had flipped the collar of his peacoat up to shield himself from the cold, and holding his white fingers to his chest. </p><p>“I’ve never been to London before,” Antonio muttered. “It’s true what Marienne said about it being rainy and sad,” he added, tucking his chin into the collar of his coat. He looked freezing. Lovino wanted to put an arm around him, but he didn’t. He just braced himself on the rail of the bridge and let his elbow touch Antonio’s.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Lovino murmured. Antonio shook his head, rocking back and forth the slightest bit. </p><p>“I feel so sick.” Antonio said suddenly, hugging himself. “I feel <em> sick </em>. We lost. I can’t believe we lost.” Lovino put a hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t speak at all. They were silent for a long time, staring at the Thames, listening to the clatter of people moving around them, speaking a language neither of them understood. </p><p>Antonio finally broke the silence. “I’m hungry. We should get lunch. We could make a date out of it,” he said, sounding near derisive. Lovino nodded. </p><p>“Sure, alright. Let’s go see how bad English food really is,” Lovino said, and they started away from the bridge and back down onto the sidewalk. And even though it was cold, neither of them put their hands into their coat pockets, hoping they might brush while they walked. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Whatever had brought the light back to Antonio’s eyes on Blackfriars Bridge, it faded back out again during lunch. He picked at some fish and chips, sipping his water and not talking, not even when they had left and were walking through the streets of London back to their hotel. </p><p>They went up to Lovino’s room and laid on his bed, looking at the ceiling. Antonio curled up beside him and kissed his neck up to his jaw and behind his ear. Lovino turned onto his side and kissed him on the mouth, insistent after such a long time. He hadn’t kissed Antonio, let alone touched him, in the last months of the war.  </p><p>There was a comfortable quiet for a few moments, and then Lovino finally prodded at the topic they had both been avoiding. “Where do we go from here?” he asked. </p><p>“I can’t go back to Spain,” Antonio murmured, curling his fingers into the fabric of Lovino’s sleeve. “I doubt Franco’s going to let Republicans go scot-free. We’re enemies of the state.” </p><p>“Come live with me in Florence,” Lovino suggested. “My neighbors keep to themselves for the most part, and I can make a very convincing story for why you’re there with me.” Antonio smiled and nodded, holding Lovino’s arm to his chest. “But still, I’m sure there are things you want out of your apartment, and converting your money…” Antonio shook his head.</p><p>“I doubt the banks will let me convert my assets. The best I can do is get the cash in my apartment. Maybe Marianne would be willing to fly back for me? Or I could ask my brother to sneak in there for diplomacy reasons or something,” he muttered. It was silent again but for the rain, and Antonio leaned over the bedside.</p><p>“They have radios in here?” he asked, messing with the knobs.</p><p>“It’s a nice hotel,” Lovino said. Antonio switched through the various channels, apparently hunting for the news before remembering where they were and leaving it to music. “We’ll figure something out,” Lovino promised him. </p><p>“I know,” Antonio said, laying back down beside him. The dreary city bustled on by the windows and the rain kept falling, and perhaps it should have only added to the lethargic, heavy sense of loss and disappointment that had not yet set in. But Lovino appreciated it, for making the unfamiliar hotel room feel more familiar, warmer. </p><p>He had bought some English cigarettes with the pounds Arthur had given them, but he reached for the last of his Spanish ones instead. There were three left in the crushed box. He lit one and handed it to Antonio, taking the other for himself. </p><p>“You have the last one,” he added. Antonio thanked him and tucked it in his pocket, and they sat in silence for a while, smoking and listened to Vera Lynn. Lovino slid beneath Antonio’s arm and pushed his fingers back and forth through his, idly watching the rain on the windows. </p><p>“Do you still want kids?” he asked suddenly. Antonio turned to look at him.</p><p>“Yes,” he said. “I know it’s not possible, though.” He sighed and squeezed Lovino’s fingers with his own. </p><p>“How many would you want?” </p><p>“As many as you would put up with,” Antonio said, laughing a little. Lovino raised his eyebrows. Antonio sighed again, heavier this time. “I really did want to be a dad.” Lovino propped himself up on his arm and looked down at him, planting a hand on his knee.</p><p>“I will steal a child for you,” he said. </p><p>“You sound so serious. It’s scaring me.” </p><p>“I will steal <em> two </em>children for you,” Lovino countered. </p><p>“<em> Stop </em>,” Antonio ordered. “I’ll survive. Maybe Marianne and Arthur will have some little monstrosities I can babysit.” </p><p>“I want you to be happy,” Lovino said. </p><p>“Then don’t get yourself sent to prison for child-snatching,” Antonio said. </p><p>“Kidnapping,” Lovino corrected. </p><p>“Right.” Antonio exhaled and stretched his arms above his head, then stubbed out his cigarette and went over to the window. The streetlamps were warm beneath the rain and haze that slicked the sidewalks. Lovino got up to get himself some water, doing a double-take when he passed the desk in the corner. </p><p>“Uh, my room doesn’t have one these,” he said, gesturing to a bottle of red. </p><p>“Courtesy of Marianne,” Antonio mumbled, his eyes on the narrow sidewalks and the people passing beneath them. </p><p>“And you had some without me,” Lovino said with a sniff. He smelled it, then took a sip from the bottle. “Oh, that’s good,” he said, looking at the label. His eyes immediately widened. “This is an 1899. It’s from the Loire, too. Perhaps Marianne isn’t… <em> so </em>awful.” Antonio snickered. </p><p>“I don’t know anything about wine, but I’ll trust that it’s good,” Antonio said. </p><p>“Do you mind if I have some more?” </p><p>“Hell, you can finish it.It’s a little sweet for me.”</p><p>“Wines have to have a higher sugar content to be aged for this long,” Lovino explained. Antonio threw his hands up and Lovino laughed, helping himself to more, before sitting on the edge of the bed and passing it to Antonio. Lovino lamented how empty it was when he set it back down, decided he might as well finish it, and downed the rest.</p><p>He grabbed Antonio’s hands. “I like this song,” he said, pulling him upright. “Will you dance with me?” </p><p>“Sure,” Antonio said, swinging himself off the bed and turning the radio up. </p><p>With the lights dim and their cheeks flushed with wine, neither Antonio nor Lovino were in a hotel room in groggy London town. They were in Madrid, in the bullring with its musicians and air tangy heat, the place where you met your husband for the first time and danced with the girl from the bookstore who you had never had the courage to speak to. </p><p>It was like Lovino remembered, like a painting with everything left rough around the edges to suggest motion, endless motion, spinning, whirling, falling and rising right back up. Lovino’s heart beat in time to the music, to Antonio’s heart, to the endless energy of the place. He felt it all the way to the tips of his fingers that grazed the stars hanging above them in the summer sky. </p><p>But the sky outside was grey and clouded, and when the music on the radio faded, they were back in the dimness of London. </p><p>“I’m <em> exhausted</em>,” Antonio announced, falling sideways on the bed. </p><p>“Get some sleep,” Lovino said. “I’m going to call my family and let them know I’m alright.” Antonio nodded and watched him go over to the phone. Lovino braced himself, then picked it up. Antonio closed his eyes to Lovino’s soft-spoken Italian, and his aching heart began to beat again. He wished he could stay in this moment forever, where he was too tired from dancing and wine to think about Franco’s victory, and all he could hear was the soft rain and Lovino’s voice. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>_____________</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Antonio’s face was half-sunken into one of the pillows when he woke up, facing the windows. Lovino had left the curtains open and the daylight was a silver stain across the blankets piled on top of Antonio’s chest. There was that same soft tap of rain and a piano melody coming from the radio. Something of Chopin’s, Antonio guessed. </p><p>He rolled over to see Lovino’s smooth, bare back, the light settling into the gentle line of his spine. There was a mark from Antonio’s mouth on the side of his arm, shaped like a bruise, but blotchy as if it had run like water. It was cold and Antonio snuggled up against Lovino’s back. </p><p>“Good morning,” Lovino murmured, his voice thick with sleep. </p><p>“Still tired?” Antonio asked. He touched the spot on his arm, then ran his fingers down Lovino’s skin, prompting him to shiver and back closer to him, nodding. </p><p>“You can go back to sleep, Lovi,” Antonio whispered, pressing a kiss to the spot where his forehead had just been. Lovino nodded, sinking slowly back into uncertain dreams that he snapped out of seconds later, but time must have passed because now the music was different and Antonio’s leg was over his waist.</p><p>“I should get up,” Lovino murmured. </p><p>Antonio put a hand to Lovino’s cheek and Lovino looked over his shoulder at Antonio’s adorably pleading expression. “A few more minutes?” he murmured. Lovino nodded and rolled onto his side to face Antonio, who pulled him to his chest. Lovino liked when Antonio held him. It gave him a feeling of warm safety he hadn’t felt since he was a child. He closed his eyes and sighed, inhaling the scent of clean sheets and Antonio beside him. This was what he had fantasized about more than sex, this laying beside someone in the warm morning, not caring about anything. </p><p>“<em>Ti amo</em>, Antonio.” Lovino whispered, kissing his chest. </p><p>“<em>T</em>e <em> amo</em>,” Antonio corrected. </p><p>“Are… are you correcting my Italian to Spanish?” Lovino asked, balancing his chin on Antonio’s chest to look up at him. Antonio flushed and covered his face with his hands. </p><p>“God, I am a <em> dumbass</em>,” he announced. </p><p>“Yes,” Lovino said delicately, taking Antonio’s hands back from his face. “But you’re <em> my </em>dumbass.” He kissed Antonio again. </p><p>“Oo. I like it when you get possessive,” Antonio grinned. Lovino shoved him so he rolled over. </p><p>“Go back to sleep, dumbass.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Madrid, 1943 </em>
</p><p>Emma looked sideways at Antonio, whose face was pale as he drummed his fingers on his thigh. “You need to relax. You look suspicious,” she murmured, nudging Antonio’s leg with her own. Antonio nodded, a bit reverent of how calm she was. Her hands were folded over her leather purse, her neat yellow dress popping against the cold white walls around them. </p><p>“I’m allowed to be nervous, aren’t I?” Antonio asked. </p><p>“Yes, but <em> not </em> suspicious,” Emma hissed out of the corner of her mouth. Antonio sighed, trying to take fuller lungfuls of breath and calm down. The door opened then and one of the nuns stepped out, holding a baby. His child. Antonio stood up, but the nun turned away from him and handed him to Emma. She stood beside Antonio, holding him to her chest and giving him a warm smile. Antonio put an arm around her in an effort to look more like a properly dutiful husband, though his face was pale and he probably looked like he was about to faint. </p><p>“Thank you so much,” Emma said. “My husband and I, we…” She broke off and shook her head, holding the baby a little tighter. She was a good actress. He was not, and the nun was eyeing him. </p><p>“He likes to be held,” the nun said. “It makes him happy.” </p><p>“Can I hold him?” Antonio asked. </p><p>“After you pay,” the nun snapped. Antonio pushed down an irritated look and forced himself to smile agreeably, following her into a small office out of the hall, where she handed him a file with a number stamped on the top.</p><p>“He’s a hundred thousand <em> pesetas </em>, but he’s very healthy and well worth it.” Antonio nodded, sliding the last few forms he had yet to sign towards himself and passing her a manilla envelope with the money. </p><p>A hundred thousand <em> pesetas </em>. Having worked in the hospital in Florence for several years, he could convert his money, but he couldn’t think of any of his friends in Spain who made even a tenth of that.  </p><p>The nun kept glaring at him even as they returned to Emma, and he started sweating. He was using the identity of his friend from the Basque Country, one who had not helped with the Republican war effort, but he kept getting a sick feeling that she knew who he really was, even though she couldn’t. But it was hard not to be paranoid, with all the horror stories he’d heard from his friends and family who had stayed. </p><p>Emma said one more thank you to the nun. Antonio just gave her a quick smile and opened the door for Emma, hurrying out into the hot sun. </p><p>“Okay, breathe,” Emma said. “It’s not as if you stole him. You paid,” she insisted, staying back in the shade to keep the baby out of the direct light. She handed him over to Antonio, and he fussed a bit at first. “Don’t feel bad. He’s probably not used to men, you might scare him a bit.” That did not make Antonio feel any less bad. He settled after a few seconds and looked up at him. Antonio didn’t know what to say, or do. Part of him wanted to cry. </p><p>“What are you naming him?” she asked. </p><p>“Che,” Antonio answered, his voice cracking a little. “Thank you for this, Emma. You… It means so much to us.” She nodded. </p><p>“Of course,” she said, putting a hand on his arm and looking down at Che again. “I couldn’t imagine Lovino as a father, so tell me how that goes. And I appreciate the excuse to come to Spain again.”  </p><p>“It’s terrible you had to come back to this,” Antonio said. </p><p>“I’m just a tourist. I’m sorry this is what’s become of your home.” Her voice had softened. Antonio nodded. </p><p>“Me too,” he said. “You know what happened, to the parents of all those kids?” he asked with a lowered voice, glancing at the outline of a<em> Guardia Civiles </em>standing on the other side of the street. Emma shook her head. “My cousin lives in Barcelona. He says they’re rounding up Republicans and dragging the men off to camps, and they’re making the women drink castor oil and parading them down the street…” </p><p>“<em> What </em>?” Emma murmured. </p><p>“And these are their kids. The Church wants them growing up in good, Catholic households… It gives me great peace of mind knowing Lovino and I managed to get one.” Emma laughed a bit, and the men in black across the street peered at them. </p><p>They hurried away and didn’t look back. Antonio still felt like he was getting away with a heist, and Emma had to stop him from breaking into an all-out run while still holding the baby. She walked with him up to his and Lovino’s hotel room. Antonio gave her one last thank you and then opened the door to find Lovino pacing back and forth, his expression a mix of hopelessly terrified and excited. </p><p>Antonio nudged the door shut with his foot and inclined his head. “Come say hi,” he murmured. </p><p>Lovino crossed the room and looked down at the small face peeking out of Antonio’s arms. </p><p>“Hey, Che,” he whispered, smiling down at him. Che hesitated a moment, frowning at him. “I’ve already made him cry, I knew it, he hates me—” Antonio shook his head. </p><p>“He’s a <em> baby</em>, Lovino, he doesn’t know what’s going on. Give him a second,” he insisted. Che continued his inspection for several seconds, then finally smiled at Lovino. Kicked a little bit. Lovino’s heart broke. </p><p>“Can I hold him?” Antonio nodded.</p><p>“Just make sure you support his head.” Antonio said, passing him to Lovino, who smiled down at Che. </p><p>“I know,” Lovino said. Che chewed at his fingers, still watching Lovino. </p><p>“Hey, <em> passerotto</em>. He’s so tiny,” Lovino whispered, touching his fingers. </p><p>“For now,” Antonio said. “The nun said he’s very quiet when you hold him, but he tends to scream in the mornings. He doesn’t cry much, though.” </p><p>“A screamer. Excellent,” Lovino said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. They were quiet for several minutes, and Che seemed to decide he had had enough excitement for one day and after some squirming, he settled in Lovino’s arms and closed his eyes. </p><p>“I wonder what he’s dreaming about,” Antonio whispered.</p><p>“My grandma used to say when babies dreamt they were talking to angels,” Lovino said with a soft laugh. “Tell them to have a word with the big guy, ey? Tell him to do something about this war. We just had one, I don’t think we were quite due for another.” Lovino leaned up against Antonio’s arm and closed his eyes too. “Are you scared?” he whispered.</p><p>“Of course I am. But you’ll be fine, Lovino, we both will.” Antonio kissed him on the temple, and in that second, he didn’t want a single thing more from the world. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>_____________</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Florence, 1947 </em>
</p><p>Che rolled over under the blankets and frowned at Lovino. “When’s Dad getting home?” he asked with a heavy voice. He was exhausted, but remained stubborn and awake, waiting for Antonio. </p><p>“Soon,” Lovino promised. “I know you want to wait for him, but it’s late, <em> passerotto</em>. Way past your bedtime. I promise, I’ll have him come in and say goodnight to you when he gets home.” </p><p>“Is Fernandito done with his bath?” he asked. </p><p>Lovino looked at his watch. “Yes. Do you want me to get him for you?” </p><p>“Yes please,” Che said. </p><p>“Alright, I’ll be right back,” Lovino said, getting up to retrieve Che’s stuffed donkey from the laundry room. The door opened in the foyer and he heard Antonio kicking off his shoes and hanging up his coat, followed shortly by Che bolting down the hall. Lovino slipped out of the laundry room in time to catch him in the act of sprinting into the foyer. </p><p>Che held his arms up at Antonio, too tired for his usual jumping. Antonio reached down to swing him up into his arms, and Che wrapped his arms around Antonio’s neck. </p><p>“Hey, Che,” he said softly. “Are you sleepy?” Che nodded. “It’s really late,” he added, glancing at Lovino.</p><p>“He was waiting for you,” Lovino said. “I think it makes him nervous when you’re not home on time,” he added in an undertone. Antonio sighed and walked him back to his room to tuck him back into bed. Che nestled into the blankets and held his arms out for Fernandito, which Lovino handed to him. He hugged it to his chest and pressed his face to the donkey’s soft fur, giving a happy hum.</p><p>“Thank you, Papa,” he said, voice muffled. </p><p>“You’re welcome,” Lovino said, kneeling on the ground beside his bed and brushing the hair off his forehead. “Get some rest, alright, sweetheart?” he added. Che nodded. “Sleep well,” he murmured, kissing him on the forehead. Che smiled but didn’t open his eyes. Antonio kissed him on the temple and smoothed his blankets.</p><p>“<em>Buenas noches</em>, Dad. <em> Buonanotte</em>, Papa,” Che murmured. </p><p>Antonio took Lovino’s hand as they left and kissed him on the cheek. Then he went into their bedroom to change while Lovino sat on the couch, watching the fire in the grate. When he was done, he settled beside him, resting his cheek on his shoulder.</p><p>“Long day?” Lovino asked, rubbing his trapezius gently. </p><p>“Yes,” Antonio murmured. </p><p>“Do you want some wine?” Lovino asked. </p><p>“Yes, <em> please</em>,” Antonio said.</p><p>“Alright. I’ll go open the bottle I’ve been tempering,” he said, wrapping the blanket around Antonio and disappearing into the kitchen, returning with two glasses of wine. Antonio took one with gratefully and sipped at it. “It’s Chardonnay,” Lovino added. </p><p>“I think you know me well enough that you could tell me this was Sauvignon Blanc and I’d believe you,” Antonio said, watching the grate while he took another sip.</p><p>“This is red, you’re not that clueless.” </p><p>“<em>Au contraire, </em>darling,” Antonio said. “How was your day?” he added. </p><p>“Very productive. I got the typewriter fixed and finished the rewrite of my manuscript and sent it to my editor. When Che and I were walking home he was begging me to take him to see the, quote unquote, fat pigeons, so we went on a walk near the Duomo but he was insistent that <em> these </em> ones weren’t the object of his affection and we had to go to the ‘right spot.’” </p><p>“Which was?”</p><p>“By Santa Maria Novella,” Lovino said. “He loves his pigeons,” he added, taking Antonio’s hand in his and lightly massaging the spots between his knuckles. </p><p>“I’m glad you both had a good day,” Antonio said, setting his wine down and curling against Lovino’s side. </p><p>They watched the fire burn down to its ember-strewn core with Lovino drinking his wine and Antonio slowly slipping into sleep. It was so warm, and there was jazz playing on the radio. Lovino pressed his face to Antonio’s hair and kissed his head. </p><p>“I love you,” he whispered. Antonio was only half-aware of reality, but he heard Lovino’s voice, and that made him smile.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I cannot believe how much has happened since I published the first chapter of this. It feels like about as much time as this story covers, really. Again thank you so much to everyone who reads these, and spoils me with comments, I appreciate you so much (especially now). </p><p>A hearty Godspeed to you all</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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